Age of Heroes
by Cage Fighter
Summary: Set after X-2. The X-Men are still mourning Jean Grey when Magneto begins recruiting again for the Brotherhood and an electrifying addition is made to the X-Team. Not a Logan/Rogue romance.
1. Chapter 1

**Age of Heroes**

Chapter One

Nights were different now. The Wolverine's nightmares were terrible enough with his own torture, and they were now interspersed with watching Jean's body disappear beneath the blue. He had lost any chance he'd had that day, when he thought he had saved them, protected them, and then she had to sacrifice herself. In the nightmare, he heard Jean's message relayed through Xavier. Then he remembered One Eye, and he had to wonder if he was wrong for his passion. But he did not go so far as to feel guilty.

So he was back to roaming the halls of Xavier's school by night, sleeping only a couple of hours. He convinced himself he was useful. He sniffed around, listened. The incident of a few weeks ago would not repeat itself. He had needed a little while to accustom himself to the scents of the students who also tended to roam, but none of those episodes were remotely dangerous and fewer students had taken to restless nights. Good thing, really, made it easier to keep guard.

Logan rounded the corner of the first residence hall. He needed little light to see his way and his other senses were strong enough to provide details on his surroundings. Scott had been out recently, probably to get sedatives from Jean's old lab. Logan passed his own door. He could go in, maybe return to an uneasy sleep. He paused. At 2 a.m., the school was safe for the night. He reached for the door handle, felt the cold metal, and heard a whimper.

Marie. She was dreaming or crying. It didn't matter which; both were brutal. They were his nightmares and she didn't deserve that anguish. The dreams began after the first night his mutation saved her life, but, she confided later, the onslaught did not truly begin until Liberty Island. She claimed the nightmares were a small price to pay for life, but it burned him. She was just a baby.

She cried out and Logan took three fast strides and reached her door. He opened it quietly and moved straight to the bed. He was forced to this more frequently; twice this week he'd come into her room and woken her. Usually she slept soundly after that. He smelled fear and salt.

Marie twitched around, gasping and coughing, and whimpered, "please." Logan clutched her shoulder – the blanket protecting his skin – and she jerked awake, her fist coming out and colliding solidly with his chest.

"Hey, kid."

Marie stared, flexing her fingers and breathing hard. Dropping back on the bed, she looked away. The white streaks in her hair were almost hidden by the pillow, but the dimness of the room did not hide the darkness of her expression. "I'm sorry," she said.

"That's the first thing I thought. 'Oh god, I'm sorry.'" He smiled, barely. "I don't know how you live with it."

"The dreams or the people in my head? The dreams only bother me when I sleep."

Logan nodded. He groped, finding her hand under the quilt and squeezing it. He was sorry for that, too, for all of it, but he was not sorry that she was still here.

"I'm all right, Logan. You can go to bed," she said quietly. "You don't have to stay."

"You can tell me. You can talk to me about anything going on in there." He motioned to her head.

Marie hesitated. He felt guilt then. What was it like having his pain on top of hers? She was timid once, he had seen the vestiges of it in the cab of his truck in Alberta. Maybe she was hardened before they ever met, maybe surviving alone on the road bruised her, but she was darker now than when he went after her on the train, darker still than when they returned an X-Man short from Alkali Lake.

"Stop apologizing. It doesn't sound right. And I've told you. You're in here too. I know how you feel about what happened. You can't have any idea how strange it is to see yourself dying through someone else's eyes, to feel what you felt, to have to sort out what it means to be willing to die – basically – for yourself." She tried to smile. "Every once in a while, I have to work to figure out which voice is mine, but even mine isn't like it used to be."

Logan sat on the bed. He was in her head too, he hoped his voice was reassuring, but he had known panic in his years.

"You used to wish for death," she told him. He flinched at the bluntness and met her eyes. "You don't anymore. You have to stay alive. You promised you'd take care of me."

He nodded. "I will. You should sleep now. You'll be better." He started to stand.

"Logan. They're changing. I hardly dream anymore, it's you…. At night, I'm you, you and me. The first night here, the bar in Laughlin City, Liberty Island, but all through your eyes. And other things." She reached out toward his face and he did not move, but she only hovered on the edge of touch. "You know terrible things."

"Yeah." He looked to the window and saw she had cracked it slightly. He appreciated the fresh air. The rest of the room was staggeringly bare for a young girl. When they came back from Alkali Lake and Xavier realized the extent of her nightmares, he moved her roommates and now she occupied a single room next to Logan. Logan knew that was why the other girls moved and not Marie.

"Something is happening with my memories, your memories. I don't know if it's because I've absorbed you more, or if it's because you're the only one who can't remember his past," she continued softly, her eyes focused on his hand. "Sometimes I just have dreams."

He gazed down where she stared and squeezed again. "You don't have to-"

"Erik knows. He knows how this happened, when, why." She stroked the space between his knuckles, just briefly enough to beat the pull of her skin. She shivered. "I can tell you things…about your past. I can give you some of the pieces back."

Logan raised an eyebrow, cognizant of her touch, of his trust. He had not moved. She reeked of fear, and he had to wonder what residue of him was left in her – could she smell his fear? And then he saw Stryker. _Volunteered. Animal. _He had not told Marie of this last encounter and she had not asked as to the fate of the dogtag she once held for him.

"But it's strange," Marie whispered.

"What?"

"The you in my head won't listen to Erik. The Wolverine tells me none of it matters anymore."

Logan met her eyes. She had stopped crying and those big, brown eyes bore into him like his own claws. That soft smile of hers slowly spread. "I told him it doesn't matter where you come from, it only matters who you are and what you do now."

"Pretty wise for so young." He smiled back.

"It ain't so young in here anymore."

He nodded. That was partly his fault, especially considering how old he was, but Magneto did not help that either. She told him months ago that the first boy she ever kissed was still in there. Who else had invaded her mind since? They both had so much they needed to leave behind, but it was impossible for both of them. Those other people were unlikely to ever fade from her psyche, and his very skeleton was a constant reminder of the few fragments he had.

"You're right. I don't know if you can let it go, but I have. My life is here now."

Marie let out a deep sigh. She almost looked younger. "I believe in you. From the first day we met in Alberta. At the bar, you gave me this look like 'what's a kid like her doing in this dive?' I know that my watching wasn't the only reason you didn't kill that logger. That's why I followed you."

So this was bare-all night, eh? She finally found a voice and if he stopped her – well, he wouldn't stop her, but if she had any ideas about him sharing, she might as well abandon them now.

"Go on, kid."

"I'm not a kid anymore," she growled, sounding so like him he had to smile and that was a mistake. "You think it's funny?" she spat.

Logan frowned, his brows tense, and barked, "No!" a little more gruffly than he had intended.

Marie flinched but didn't look away. She was not really afraid of him. Maybe she never had been, maybe having him inside her head told her better, or maybe it was who she was. He closed his eyes. He never wanted her to fear him. He knew he could die on Liberty Island and he chose her. He could not remember anyone else that meant so much to him, who by God loved him, or whom he loved so much.

"You want to talk, I'll listen." He tapped his shoulder. "Room here."

"You know, everyone else tries to pretend they aren't afraid to touch me, but you're the only one who really isn't, and I've nearly killed you twice. It hurts, that I can't touch anything without causing pain." The southern accent thickened, as it always did when she was bitter. "We're both Death, you and me. The only ones we save are ourselves."

"And each other," Logan asserted. The expression on her face then made his chest tight. He knew he was everything to her, that at least they shared that, and he knew what might have once been a school girl crush had become something different. She'd kill for him, it was in her wide, vulnerable eyes, die for him too. She was the only person who might ever understand him.

"Don't forget that, kid. You saved my life."

She turned a look on him then that he knew she'd gotten from him, like she could see down to his cells, a look he used to give Jean. He grinned. "There's too much of me in there."

"Naw, honey, I can deal with you. It's the craving for cigars that gets to me."

Logan laughed, deep in his gut, loud in his throat, like he hadn't done since before Jean. He could almost off her a beer and sit back for a hockey game.

Marie blushed. "That's not the only thing I crave because of you."

He felt his own cheeks grow a little warm at that. "I think this is a good time to say goodnight." He stood up, glanced at the clock. They might both sleep peacefully tonight. "Get some rest, darlin'."

Marie nodded. She dropped back into her pillows and he pulled the covers up to kiss the top of her head, her hair warm and safe. He inhaled her scent. No more fear, the only lingering sweetness was a smell he almost didn't recognize. He dismissed it, that crush notwithstanding, and left her snuggled under fleece blankets.

Back in his own room, he shook himself, tried to free the tension that never seemed to leave him. He pulled on flannel pants and crawled – surprisingly tired – into his bed. He might have been asleep when he heard the click, but he was instantly alert, and knew it was Marie before he smelled her.

She walked softly by nature, but she must have known he was awake because she wasn't trying to tiptoe. When she came within the light of the window, he saw she had changed. Instead of that scant little gown she was wearing a sweatshirt and pants, gloves and socks. He frowned.

"Marie."

"Just for a little while." Her eyes were bright and damp. The words came out in a rush, as though she was not ready to say them, but he knew better. Sometimes he wished she was just a little afraid of him, then she would not be so familiar with him. "I just want to be held," she murmured, "and if I go to Bobby, he would think something else."

He would think like any teenage boy would if his girlfriend came to him in middle of the night, and she didn't need that, not even if she craved it on some level. And then he'd have to explain to Xavier why Iceman needed stitches. Damn it. He didn't need this. What if he forgot himself in his sleep, clawed her, or touched her? He kissed Jean that night, but he couldn't remember the last time he'd slept with a woman.

Marie was watching him, bundled Marie, loving Marie who only wanted his comfort. "Get me a shirt," he growled.

She gestured to her own clothes, but he shook his head. "Get me a shirt. Top drawer."

She followed his direction and tossed him a white tee shirt which he donned. Not looking at her, he pulled the covers up and gestured beside him. Marie didn't hesitate. She slid in beside him, not quite so far to touch. Logan pulled her over, her bare face against his clothed shoulder and his arm around her waist. She shifted several times, enough to make him regret he allowed this, but then she settled, and while he was trying to ignore her body heat, she began to cry. She sobbed hard, not like the time on the train. Her whole little body shook. He could think of a dozen reasons she would cry for and they were all worth it when you've been through what she'd survived. So he hugged her to him, kissed the top of her head, and crooned to her that it was okay, that she would make it through this, that they all would. He rocked her, uncertain where he'd learned such tenderness, until she finally fell asleep. Content with that small victory, he let himself sleep.

* * *

Rogue dreamed of kissing Bobby, of the icy breath she possessed, but mostly of the feel of touch, real touch. She woke when Logan moved and realized he was lying on his side and she was curled against that broad expanse of his back, her arm around his neck. She'd forgotten how solid he was, but then a good portion of him was metal.

Logan stirred again, lengthened and stretched, and she heard him inhale deeply, and then he grunted. "What time is it?"

She rolled over far enough to see the clock. "Six. It's so early."

"Time to go, kid." He pulled himself to the edge of the bed.

Rogue let her arm drop to the mattress and closed her eyes. She smelled Logan so strong she reeled in it, and she was completely safe, no nightmares, no phantom pain from claws she did not have. It was obvious he had no idea how much of him was in there.

"I'm going to train." He stood up, began rifling through drawers. "Don't you have to be in class?"

"Not until eight." He was soon to join her in that fate it he did as the Professor asked and began teaching the students self-defense. He could also teach French but she was not sure Logan was aware of that and it was something she would leave for him to discover. She did not feel like getting yelled at, not this early, not at all, not like she was some damned ten-year-old.

"You all right, kid?"

"I told you-" She sat up.

"Are you all right?" He met her eyes, his expression unfalteringly no nonsense. He was referring to last night, when something – the influence of the Wolverine in her head maybe – drove her to make that brazen and embarrassing comment about cravings which, thank God, Logan had ignored. He was referring to her cry-fest and everything else.

"Yeah, I'm okay," she worked to say calmly, but it still came out grudgingly. And she realized it was all her own bitterness, not Wolverine's or Erik's or John's. None of the others had begun that daily fight for Rogue's consciousness. She was only Rogue, and for all that was worth, it only made the events of the last year that much worse. It was her anger – not John's – and her disdain – not Erik's – that swept through her like the waters from the dam. She had fled home to be accosted several times before she wound up in a bar in Canada with the man now watching her uneasily. She had been stabbed, though she was still more sorry for Logan for herself. She had been rudely invaded by a human magnet, and had to watch as Logan nearly died for her. She stopped then, calming, because she knew he would do it again. What he did not know was that she would do the same for him.

"I'm sorry, Logan. I'm not a morning person, and I'm sorry about being such a little crybaby-"

"No, no, no." His hand came up. "Save it." The eyes said clearly, _don't apologize for feeling, _they said things Logan could not say aloud or did not have the words to express. They were the only saving grace when his sentences seldom surpassed five brusque words.

"We're all in pain, Marie. We all deal with it in our own ways."

Scott. Three weeks now and Rogue had watched the uneasy bond between the two men as it strengthened. She had come upon one conversation when Scott poured it all out and Logan took it, took the tears and the desperation and the rage. Logan controlled Scott's controlled burn like only Jean could have done if she were not the source of it. And Rogue stayed long enough to hear Logan remark, "she died for all of us. She chose us, and you have to accept that you could not stop her, and if you had or if I had, we would have been terribly wrong. There was no other way."

Rogue looked to Logan. "There was no other way." He knew it; did he need to hear it too? She needed to talk about Jean, now that she had cried for her and everything else, but she sensed now was not the time. Bobby. Logan might never open his mouth and grieve with words though his mourning was apparent. She could talk to Bobby, who knew Dr. Grey longer after all.

His face questioned her comment and she had enough of him in her to intuit his line of thought – if he had done more… She stopped there. She was on the jet; she only knew pieces of what transpired underground, pieces gleaned from Storm or Nightcrawler when one of them was willing to speak about that day. Once they were all back in the jet, resistance was not an option given by Jean.

And suddenly there was Erik and his fury, and she knew Jean died because the world feared people like them, like herself and the others lodging beneath her pale skin. "We do not have to let it happen again," Rogue offered. "We are certainly not defenseless in this fight."

Logan tensed. He searched her eyes and waited, but she had made her point, Magneto's point. Ah, that was what her confidant disliked. He pointed at her. "Don't listen to that one, Marie."

Because he tried to kill her? Funny how little that mattered when Erik's voice mingled with her own. She smiled and he did not seem to like that either.

"Out."

How familiar that sounded. Last time he had not meant it. This time he did. She smelled his anger and it evoked the Wolverine from within herself.

"You spend the rest of your life unable to touch without killing, we'll see how gleeful you are." She finally got out of bed, but then she couldn't leave. She stood up straight, unable to dam the emotions rushing out, or quell the urge to lift him up and send that metal skeleton crashing against the door. Only she did not have Erik's power any more, just his spite. "You live with more than five voices in your head that aren't yours! You live knowing that if only you could have channeled one of their powers, Jean wouldn't have had to die! Stop acting like you don't give a damn because I know better."

He threw the sweats he was holding and for cotton, they hit the dresser impressively hard. "Don't pick a fight with me, Marie. You won't like where it goes."

"It won't go anywhere, like a lot of other things. Test me and we can see what residual power I do still have." Inside, Rogue cowered. She had lost control and Pyro was out. She charged Logan, silently screaming for John to stop as she collided with her friend. Logan staggered and coughed, but caught her easily and softly pushed her back. But Pyro wasn't finished yet. Rogue swung, caught Logan across the jaw, and screamed. Bones in her hand shattered, her knees buckled, and down she went, victorious if only because the pain had brought her back to the surface. How Pyro gave her such muscle, she did not know, but adamantium was a sorry punching target.

"Marie!" Logan caught her as she sank.

Crying again now, not for her hand, but for her actions, she looked up at him. _It wasn't me,_ she pleaded. _You know that wasn't me._ She could not tell if he knew.

"Don't ever do that again," he said softly, and she recognized that face. She hurt him, not physically that was evident. No, she hurt _him_.

Marie shook her head, clenching her teeth for the pain. "I didn't – I couldn't –"

He led her to the bed, sat her down, and pulled the glove from her right hand. He grimaced. The damage was significant and obvious. He did not look at her, but reached his bare hand out to touch hers, and she jerked back. "No!"

"Marie."

"No, I deserve it. I let him-"

Logan met her eyes and this time she detected the faint scent of fear in the air. He clutched her arm and held it in his vice of a fist, tugged her slightly. She could not look at him, could not believe he thought her capable of hurting him even if he was invincible.

"You have to control it, Marie."

"They're stronger than me."

"No, they're not. But I am."

But the Wolverine was curiously absent when Pyro raged at the real thing. She needed him or even Bobby. Erik only cheered the confrontation onward.

"Don't touch me. It will heal itself."

He growled. "Don't piss me off more than I already am. We've had enough martyrs." His skin met hers then, his hand warm and rough. Angry, desperate, loving her pain, she fought the pull, but it was no use. Three seconds passed before he gasped. Her bones cracked back into place, the blood bruise disappeared, the pain ceased. Still he held on. She tugged her arm to stop him, but he did not let go. Healed, her body began to draw out more than his regenerative power. The Wolverine washed over her, pushed the others back, and roared. Logan let go, his breath ragged. Rogue snatched for her glove. The anger was still there and it was not being hushed by the wave of pity he had just sent her. She did not seek pity. Finally Bobby's voice rose up and told her plainly – almost jealously – that there was a difference between pity and empathy, that this was the latter.

Logan stood, swayed, seized his change of clothes, and marched to the door. He opened it and told her without looking at her that they would finish this later. The door should have whimpered when it slammed shut.

Rogue exhaled and collapsed back onto the bed. Voices shouted at her from within and she was not certain whose voice advised her not to run, but she listened. She ached all over from the tension of a few seconds of their fight, but her hurt was easing with the Wolverine in the foreground, assuring her that he still loved her, and that she _was _strong.

**Reviews are appreciated. They're what encourage me to add more...**


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

Logan should not have slammed the door so intensely, he liked its barrier. He should not have yelled. But he was the Wolverine and that was what he did. Any hopes he had entertained about the others not realizing she had stayed with him were damned. He was only surprised no one had come when she screamed, but they probably all assumed they were nightmares. They would not interrupt a shouting match between him and Rogue if they knew better, it was dangerous territory.

Before everything went to hell he had only planned on running, but now he was beyond that. Marie had pushed for a fight and he wanted one, he wanted to hit someone. Naturally, he thought of Scott, and right after, thought One Eye might like to hit him back. They could share their pain by inflicting it on each other. Cyclop's pain, his fury.

Three weeks were gone since Jean. Only this week had Scott begun teaching again. Logan knew he had not trained, he had been keeping watch on all of them: Scott, Ororo, Xavier, Bobby, and Marie. He knew where they were, what they were doing, if they were eating. Xavier did not really need the baby-sitting, and Nightcrawler was shifting around, providing the emotional and spiritual help Logan could not give. He was thankful. Nightcrawler had kept Ororo from breaking. Bobby seemed to be coping well enough and the little kids did not know what they had lost. Which left him Marie and there was the rage again. Marie missed Jean so much because he was in there missing Jean. There were too many people in there fucking with her head and she did not need any of it.

_Logan, _Xavier called telepathically. _Come see me._

Logan nodded, as if Xavier could see him, but first he went to Cyclop's lonely room. He was snoring, definitely in a drugged sleep, but Logan was not the one to decide Scott's therapy. He purposely took a route which led him past Ororo's room and smelled Nightcrawler there. So he was not the only one not to spend the night alone. Bobby was still asleep, but not for long if Marie did as he expected and went straight to her boyfriend.

Xavier called him into the office just as he was about to knock. The old man was working hard to maintain order and morale. The fatigue showed in the lines around his smile. "How are you, Logan?"

Logan cocked his head. He thought it was obvious, even to the non-psychic. The anger especially had not gone away. "Fine."

"Sometimes I could nearly believe that. You have been a savior since you first came here, but these last few weeks you have been a rock for those in pain, an exemplar of strength. I thought at first it was denial, and some of it was, but I see now it is more so resilience. You have become entirely too accustomed to incredible pain. If we did not need that strength right now, I would advise you to look into it."

"Is this why you called me here?" He was not interested in listening to praise for his behavior over Jean's death.

"No, Logan. But I did want to thank you." He leaned forward a bit, lacing his fingers together over the calendar on his desk. "No, the reason I asked you here is because I wanted to get your answer. Are you willing to teach a combat class?"

He had mulled over it for days and then forgotten. Xavier did not know how loaded his request was. If Logan taught, it meant he was staying, which he had already decided really – he had chosen the side Storm spoke of weeks ago. On top of that, he was with Marie, and she was staying.

"I don't even remember how I learned to fight."

"Do you doubt your ability to teach what you know?"

No. He never doubted his abilities, only the damage he wrought with them. "I'll do it. But I want something in return."

"Yes, Logan?" Xavier's face was hesitant. He probably thought Logan was about to ask him for another mind-reading, another trip into his murky past, but that was a dead dog Logan had finally chosen to leave rotting on the side of the highway; he was not going to go looking into those shadows any time soon. The past was the past and right now, he was worried for the future. He affirmed the idea as he spoke it: "I want to train the next X-Men."

Xavier took a deep breath. Logan could see he was thinking very hard, but that the idea itself was not surprising or upsetting. The professor nodded. "Who did you have in mind?"

"Kurt, if he's staying. Some of the older students. Iceboy, Jubilee, Kitty, Colossus." He ground his teeth. "Rogue."

Xavier considered this. "You're talking about a serious commitment."

"Time or effort?" Logan scoffed.

"Allegiance." He held up a hand as Logan opened his mouth. "I do not doubt your loyalty, Logan. You have proven yourself in the worst situations. I only want you to realize the depth of the promise you are making. You want to turn these children into soldiers."

"No. I just want them to be ready when the war outside does."

Xavier closed his eyes and bent his head. Logan looked at the wall. He was getting a little tired of all these displays of emotion. Did people think they had to show you they were in pain all the time? Everyone else was in the same pain; they did not need to keep lighting up neon signs advertising the fact. And Xavier knew he was right; the world was getting rougher and if things did improve down the road, the road would certainly get bumpier first.

"They are not like you, Logan."

Like a killer? Like an animal? He hoped to whatever god there might be they would never become like him. "I know what they are."

The professor's shoulders seemed to slump slightly, like he had lost an argument. Logan put his hands on his hips. "Look, if you don't want me to do this—"

"I do not want it to be necessary, but I am not so young or so naïve anymore that I would make such a decision that would sacrifice the safety of others. They may not be adults yet, but they are no longer children. They have seen the cruelties of war."

No, they had not. Watching Jean die, that was brutal and Logan would not be the man to contest that, but they had seen nothing of war, and if they ever had to, he was going to make sure they were ready.

"What about Scott?"

Xavier looked at him. "What about him?"

Logan sighed. He licked his lips. He crossed his arms. "I'm not out to be his replacement."

"You could not replace him." Xavier seemed to regret his harsh words. He spoke more softly the next time. "You are too different men, Logan. There are moments when each of you is needed more than the other. And he is not in any condition to continue in that capacity at the present time. I do not know that he will ever be the leader he was before."

Because he blamed himself. Logan wanted to do the same, blame himself, not Scott, and not Jean, but really the fault did not rest with any of them. The world was collapsing around them, the enemy had screwed them over, and Jean did what only Jean could do. She decided that a dozen lives were more important than her one; that was not a failure on anyone's part. That was a sacrifice and it deserved to be honored. Logan was honoring it in the only way he knew how, by going on, by filling the void others left behind, by taking up the fight he doubted would ever end. Cyclops had fallen because he was not ready to accept that, and Logan understood this too; as much as Logan had wanted Jean, he had never had her, therefore he did not suppose he knew what it was like to truly lose her.

"Storm, on the other hand, has proven herself. She will work with you."

Great, because he and the Cloud Queen had always gotten along wonderfully. She was too soft. They were not going to see matters similarly.

"Fine." He was not going to argue with the Professor about it now. For all he knew, they would be training the kids at different times in separate rooms. He brightened at the thought.

"Yes, it is time to rebuild our forces," Xavier continued. "I trust you to see that their training is extensive and exhaustive but not beyond their limits. They will need time," he said in a stern voice.

"How much of that have we got?"

"I don't know, but it is important that we give them what we can. You should devise a complex combat training program for them. I will leave the tactical planning to Storm." He went on as Logan snorted. "However, I believe you should handle Rogue and Iceman differently, even Colossus from what you've told me of the invasion. They should be the next X-Men. They are the most aware of the dangers and the most ready to make the necessary sacrifices."

He had no hesitation regarding Colossus at least. "I can start with them tomorrow." He turned around, ready to leave.

"How _is_ Rogue?" Xavier asked.

Logan hesitated. If Marie wanted Xavier's help, she would have sought it, unless she thought he was too burdened or that she could handle her mental opponents alone. He saw she was losing, but she was not quitting. Marie would not quit and neither would the Wolverine inside. "She's rough. She'll be okay."

Xavier smiled. "We just need time. If you have some time – I know it's early – I'd like to design your curriculum with you, and set up a schedule. Please sit."

* * *

Rogue watched Storm scribble on the blackboard but she could not bring herself to take notes on the Renaissance. At the moment she was in the mood for the Inquisition or something out of the Dark Ages, and it all seemed so useless now, and more suspiciously, she already knew most of the material. Erik was such a learned reader, she figured, with his love of knowledge and power.

Bobby sat next to her, frequently throwing her distressed and imploring glances. He saw she was not her normal self, but she was not ready to talk yet, not until she knew she could hold onto her own voice for a decent time. Logan knew her better and he was harder anyway. She would not hurt Bobby. It was Pyro who was the most awful, running on pure emotion with little self-control and miles of attitude. His mutation suited him really, he was just like fire; the flames matched his disposition. That meant she must be a leech, a parasite who lived off others' pain and energy.

A war was growing around them. Sitting in here, learning about a long-lost revival of art and philosophy and science was pointless. They were no longer in an age of illumination. She distinctly heard the Wolverine tell Pyro, _shut it. You haven't seen a dark age._

Logan. Was he the answer? Is that what he meant when he said he was stronger, that he could control the others? If she gave him free rein, it she stopped trying to hold back the beast. He was good inside, reckless but noble.

Rogue considered it for the rest of class and just as Storm wrapped up, she confirmed the choice. She called the Wolverine to the surface, felt her brain reel, sensed that raw energy and power and stubbornness. She checked her hands, thinking the claws might be there. The Wolverine was annoyed, wretchedly annoyed, and partly at her, but she could let him loose that aggression elsewhere. This might give her the chance to hunker down and listen to Erik and John like she had been wanting to do more and more for days.

So with a deep breath, she unleashed the cage fighter and she sank down so far she lost all idea of what went on outside her body. She was in a remarkably quiet place for the four males in her psyche. Of course, Erik had long ago shut up David, and she did not know whose influence it was, but David had been slowly disappearing since Liberty Island.

It was Bobby and John and Erik who surrounded her now; two boys she saw were heavily attracted to her, and the man who had tried to kill her to protect them all. Maybe it was the bits of Logan that were permanent parts of her which enabled her to smell the testosterone. They all wanted to be in control, Erik and John over her, and Bobby over the other two. She laughed, sweet Bobby. He could help her too. The three of them possessed a common ability that the Wolverine did not – Logan could not turn off his healing factor, his mutation. This was one skill he could not teach her.

She let down defenses, accepted the conflicting voices, and began to study them. Her anger still clinging to her, she began with Pyro, and the sweltering heat was spectacular.

* * *

**Reviews are like food for writers.**


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**

Logan finished his beer and tossed it into the garbage can near the boathouse. It was his third, he noted, but then he had had a rough time lately, and it took a _lot_ to get him drunk. He was almost willing to work for it, but Scooter had only recently retaken his place as fearless leader, and Xavier did not need one of his leaders or teachers getting plastered. Logan had to shake himself when he realized how much he cared what Chuck thought, or maybe it was pride. No one was going to see him break, the Wolverine did not break. And, oh how he wanted to, wanted to break free and find Mystique and Magneto and cut them like grass. They meant to kill Marie and the others at the Statue, and if nothing else, they left them all to die at Alkali Lake. The only reason Magneto did not let their jet crash was to try once more to reshape the world to his own creation. Bastard. Jean was dead because Magneto cared only about himself and that damned blue bitch.

But he did not really want to think about Mystique, of how she manipulated his brain into forgetting Jean's scent and made him think he had the chance. He was on safer ground with Magneto, could hate freely even though the duo both knew his real weakness: Marie.

The battle within was becoming aggravatingly circular. He promised to take care of her and failed twice, once on the train, again when she flew out of the back of the jet. And he had no power over the havoc destroying her from the inside out. He thought she was stronger than that, he had seen her jagged edges in the cab of his truck, but if he was honest, he had to admit he had no idea what it was like when she had the memory of five people and he barely had his own.

"Logan!"

Scooter. Logan tossed the fifth bottle and looked over his shoulder. "What?" The tightass was running to him, urgently but not desperately. He did not feel like discussing Jean now.

"Logan, come back inside." Scott glanced at the water and Logan knew where that would lead so he stood.

"Need my help, Scooter?" He grinned. "Can't handle the kids by yourself?"

"Not this one. Not your kid."

Logan lowered an eyebrow. "I don't have a-"

"Rogue has been causing some trouble. The Professor is busy with Cerebro. Storm found me and told me about an incident, and then Iceman and Jubilee. I'm not quite sure how to handle this."

Logan stepped forward menacingly. If One Eye did not get to the point, he would soon lose more than his good looks. "Yeah?"

"Well, first of all, she informed Storm that she had a 'nice ass.'" He was smirking. "Need I go on?"

The Wolverine narrowed his eyes. He was quick enough that he would not like where this would lead, but he had to know the extent of the damage. Last time anything like this happened, he was unconscious. He grunted.

"Then she skipped my class, told Iceman to take a cold shower and, as Jubilee just informed me…stole my bike."

Scott hesitated on the last bit. The smirk was still there but not nearly so pronounced. He must have guessed Logan would not like that last revelation, and he did not, he hated it, but it was slightly amusing in an awkward, embarrassing way. For a brief moment, he felt something on the order of pride. Scott definitely saw that, because he grinned.

"Last time she found your cigars and when Jean took them away, she hit on her with me in the room. She was mortified with herself."

Logan chuckled. He had always wondered exactly what Jean meant when she said Marie took on "some of his more charming personality traits." That was okay. Leaving the school in times like these, that was not.

"I'm going after her. Give me a ride." He began marching back up the hill and he could smell Scott following him.

"Do you know where she's going?"

"Exactly where she doesn't belong, like where she found me."

They took Scott's car, but Logan drove, and for once Scooter did not argue. He might have wanted to, but he did not press it. Logan smashed the petal to the floor, no need for pretenses when Scott knew how important Marie was. He took the highway and sped into the city, bypassing the suburbs and heading straight downtown. These were not his kind of bars, too crowded, too modern, too cosmopolitan, but without a serious road trip, they were the only option. Only three were dark and dismal enough with a hint of swanky to allure him. He parked, barked an order at Scott to follow him, and left the car. He had not seen that many bikes, but he hoped one of them would look familiar. He told Scott to find his bike and go.

"You don't want back-up?"

"I can handle myself," he said and Scooter grinned. That was what this was about, after all, handling the Wolverine. He shoved the keys in his back pocket and strode into a dank joint named O'Riley's.

Over the smoke and the beer which both called to him like sirens he had to work to sort out the scents of the people. Mostly older, ragged-looking specimens filled the bar, reminding him of why he was worried and this time angry at Marie, not just her mutation. She knew better than this bullshit. This hero worship nonsense had progressed too far, even if there was a piece of him in there goading her onward.

He moved on to the next bar. This one was nearly empty, much more to his tastes. Marie sat in a corner booth, wearing that familiar green cloak, and sucking back on a MGD. Eighteen years old. What bartender would sell her anything? Damn, she was a pain in the ass.

She did not notice him as she watched the boxing match on television. A twenty-something boy at the bar leered at her, and finally made his move. Logan sat at the bar, ordered a beer, and sat back to watch the show. Marie barely acknowledged the boy, kept nursing her beer – what number was this? – and when the boy offered a cigarette, she replied in that southern drawl that she preferred cigars. Logan took that as his cue. He strode over and looked down, a long way down, at the college boy, and waited.

"I saw her first," the boy protested, and the alcohol on his breath explained his lack of fear.

"No. You didn't." Logan gripped the table, squeezing until a crack appeared with an audible crunch. The boy fled, Logan took his seat and faced Marie. She flinched but said nothing. She stared back at him with interest, studying him in a very un-Marie manner. He was not liking this.

"What's going on, Marie?"

She blinked, cocked her head, sniffed. "I could use a smoke. Spot me?"

"Knock if off, Marie."

"Marie left." She turned back to the television. Logan cursed. He did not like to talk, so if this was a version of himself, he was in for a long night.

"Where is she?"

Marie shrugged, took a swig of beer, and met his eyes, looking particularly predator-like. "Back off, bub."

This wasn't right. The Wolverine in her head should be protecting her, not ignoring this. "Don't push me, Marie."

"But she's so good at it." Marie eyed his leather jacket, the left side, where Logan kept his cigars. "Come on." It was a challenge, he could live up to that.

He reached inside, pulled out one cigar, and took his time lighting it, trying to avoid Marie's hungry eyes. He saw another set of eyes from a different battle. He watched Deathstrike's eyes clear as he filled her with adamantium and pain. Her spell wore off. Earlier when Marie punched him and her hand splintered, the same happened. Logan took the first puff of his cigar and extended it to Marie. She took it eagerly, brought it to her lips, and inhaled. The coughing racked her entire body. She closed her eyes and bent over. Logan reached out and retrieved the cigar from where she had dropped it. He took another drag. Marie coughed, gasped, wheezed.

Now that she deserved.

When she sat back up, her eyes focused on him, eyes that were definitely Marie's. "Logan," she whispered.

"We're leaving. Now," he growled with the cigar between his teeth.

Marie bit her lip and leaned across the table. "Where are we?" She was terrified, the emotion flowed out of her pores and over to him.

"Don't joke with me, kid."

Marie looked around. She shivered. She looked down at her hands. They were uncovered. The look on her face held the question: what had she done with those hands?

Logan frowned. "Do you feel anyone new in there?"

After a moment, she answered, "no."

"We're leaving. Get up."

She preceded him out, only to look even more disoriented in the street. He led her to the car, gestured for her to get in, and they headed back to the mansion. Once they were safely out of the city lights, he asked, "what happened?"

* * *

Yeah, Rogue was going to tell him. She had no idea and that would really piss him off. The Wolverine inside snickered but remained in the background. She got the faint impression she had already pissed off Professor Summers.

"Where have you been?" Logan growled.

She had been learning to play with fire, so to speak, immersing herself in Pyro and how it felt to turn the flames up and extinguish them. She looked at the radio clock. 8:30. She had been with Pyro for twelve hours. What had the Wolverine done all day? She had not meant to be out that long, she had not meant to be totally out. Had they been looking for her?

"I want answers. I don't have to get them the easy way, kid."

Rogue swallowed. For once, his threat sounded true. She did not know his methods, but he could be a vicious man. Not that he would hurt her, but there were multiple forms of torture. She knew from last night that he would like to use some of the more bloody forms on Magneto. Inside her head, Erik sneered and called him a brute.

"I did what…" What he suggested. If only it were as simple as that. She looked at him, his knuckles white as he gripped the steering wheel, his jaw tight. "I did what I had to do."

"How?"

"I needed to manage the different people in my head, so I put you in charge, only I didn't realize it disconnected me completely. The last thing I remember is Storm's class." She frowned and watched him. He was thinking too. "Don't worry, Logan. It won't happen again. I finally know how to control them." And she did. She knew how to shut them out and listen only when _she _wanted, and if she was right, one day she would know how to control her mutation. But the important point for the moment was that no one else was vying to reign over her mind. She had reached a sort of peace with her mental tenants, having agreed to listen to what they had to say if only on her own terms.

Logan glared at her and she glared back. Finally his eyes softened and she recognized that he believed her. They did not lie to each other, from the day they met, they embraced the truth. He knew her name, her real name.

"So you're okay?" He tossed his cigar butt out. "Nothing broken, inside or out?"

"I'm all right, Logan."

"Good. Because you're going to have one hell of a mess to sort out at the school."

She could have guessed that. The Wolverine could not keep his mouth shut or his claws in. So Cyclops was angry, who else? She did not think Wolverine paid too much attention to anyone but him.

She forced herself to ask. "What did I do?"

Logan sniffed. "You cut Scooter's class – before you stole his bike – and you told your boyfriend," he said with a smirk. "To take a cold shower."

Marie swore. "Son-of-a-bitch, Logan, what do you have against Bobby?"

"Just his hormones. Calm down."

Marie laughed in a dark, mocking tone. "Bobby's hormones. What do you think it's like dealing with the hormone-raging boys _in_ my head? Huh? And they're nothing compared to the two grown men. I think more about sex from the opposite side."

"Jesus, Marie!"

"Don't want to hear it, do you? Too bad. I want to talk." But she stopped then. He was stiff as a board in the driver's seat, not even looking at her out of the corner of his eyes. She had seldom seem him uncomfortable and she was not looking to repeat this morning's fight. "You know, you think about beer and sex a lot, Logan."

He cleared his throat.

She did not look at him. "It's just hard when you have all these memories and sensations and you can't touch. I can't even hold hands without killing. So it hurts is all. Especially when you've got people in your head who make it painfully obvious what you're missing."

"Can we _not_ do this?"

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to make things weird. I wanted to talk to Dr. Grey about it, but I never got the chance, and I can't tell the Professor." She felt her cheeks hot. "I trust you."

He met her eyes briefly, a dark look in his. What was he thinking?

The eyebrow was up. "I don't know what's in your head, sweetheart, but it ain't in mine."

Rogue unconsciously raised an eyebrow in return. "What do you mean?"

Logan fished for another cigar, and then frowned and put both hands back on the wheel. He took several breaths and still never looked at her. "I can't remember the last time I was with a woman."

Rogue stared. "But Dr. Grey?"

"I kissed her. I didn't sleep with her. So we're even now. Confession for confession. Conversation over."

He could not remember. Rogue did not know specifics, places, times, but she had fuzzy recollections of more than one incident. Fifteen years. Either the Wolverine had been celibate for fifteen years, or he had a lot more holes in his memory than he realized. She choked on that one and she did not say another word until she saw the lights of the mansion.

* * *

Logan heard Marie's pulse quicken as they neared the school. She kept staring at her bare hands. "Are you mad?"

Furious, outraged, he wanted to shred something, but not her. He was hovering in a strange place between understanding and disappointment, his temper checked by the former. If she had learned how to suppress those others in her head – how did Bobby get in there anyway? – then she had _meant_ well. As embarrassing as it was that she chose his essence to take over while she struggled – because he wondered exactly what she did say to Storm – the charade had been harmless, and overall beneficial. The Wolverine was not a killer of innocents. He only needed some time away, ironic when that was exactly what Marie was doing at the same time.

"I'm angry it had to happen," he said slowly. She should not have had to protect herself from a form of schizophrenia by osmosis. She should not have ever needed to flee Meridian, but then she would not have walked into that bar in Laughlin City, and he…who knows? He kind of missed beating up on thugs for money.

Marie was lightly shaking when he parked next to Scooter's bike. She would not look at him, only at those pale hands. Maybe she was remembering what happened that morning, when she fractured her hand. She hit him harder than he thought she had in her, made him wonder then what residual strength she did still have. She did not want to face the X-Men and her friends.

"They don't have to know."

She met his eyes.

"We can tell them you slugged me this morning, and when I healed your hand, my personality…lingered."

"I didn't hit you."

He raised an eyebrow. "You want to tell them who did?"

She shook her head. "But what about the Professor?"

"You tell him the truth. He can help you deal with your head anyway. But only him. You'll scare the others."

The crease in her brow proved she was thinking on similar tracks. He was used to people being afraid of him, of what he could do, of what he was. Marie had not had quite so long to adjust. She looked weak now, beaten down, ready to enter the cage for one last fight.

He tugged one of her white strands. "Don't worry about the X-Men. They know about you and they're used to my…attitude. And don't worry about Bobby. If he cares for you, this will just be a funny story you can tell your-"

"Grandkids?" She offered spitefully.

"Friends, Marie. Be honest with yourself."

She nodded, though obviously bitter, and worked to keep pace with him to Xavier's office. There at 9:05 p.m., he debriefed the team on the situation.

"Rogue hurt her hand this morning. When I healed her, because it was a nasty cut, it must have caused some side effects. She's fine, and," he paused to look at Marie.

"And I'm sorry if I did or said anything to offend anyone. It's already passed." She watched Xavier as she spoke.

Storm nodded. "And how are you otherwise, Rogue?"

"I'm okay, I guess. I'm just embarrassed."

Logan eyed the expression on Storm's face. Her tone was too calm. She and Cyclops were watching Marie from where they stood together by the window.

"I think what Storm is asking you, is," Xavier clarified, "how are matters in your mind?"

Logan expected her to look to him, to betray herself in uncertainty, but she only looked down. She fidgeted with her shirt and Logan realized for the first time that she was wearing one of his flannel shirts. "I've had some trouble, for a long time, but lately I've been working on it more. I've been dealing with _them._ I'm getting better."

Storm moved over to lean against Xavier's desk, in front of Marie's chair. She smiled. Scott began strolling around the corners in the direction of Charles. It was the most composed he had seen the man in a month. Logan glanced at Marie. He agreed to train her, but today had tested his resolve. She had to be in control or they were all in danger. He knew she knew it, that it was why she took such risks today and probably again every day until she was certain there would be no mistakes. They could lock her in her room and he would watch her as long as she needed to babysit her "tenants." She would get there.

"I'd like to start working with you, Professor Xavier, to see what more I can do with the people in my head. Could you do that?"

Xavier smiled and nodded. His eyes were warm as they flicked back and forth between Marie and Logan. "Yes, I think that is a wise idea, Rogue. We will begin tonight, after this meeting is adjourned. The first session will not be too long or tiring, I assure you."

Marie nodded. "Thank you. Are we done then?"

"Not quite," Scott answered. He had come to stand beside Xavier. Logan moved closer to Marie's chair, close enough for her to reach out. Her heart was pumping like a piston. She was waiting for someone to discover her lie. She met his eyes and he held her stare for a long moment. He supported her and he would be with her while she prepared. He thought he would probably be with her and these geeks until one of them died. He promised.

Marie swallowed.

"Rogue, do you realize who are with you in this room?" Xavier asked. He gestured to Cyclops, Storm, and Wolverine. Marie glanced around. "Yes, Professor, I'm okay now."

Scott chuckled. Storm crossed her arms and shot him a look. Xavier continued, "no, Rogue. You are looking at the X-Men." He smiled fatherly. "There has been a lot of discussion recently, not only about our diminished ranks but also the appropriate new members. In some cases, the right kind of people came into our lives at the right time. Logan, for example. Kurt. And you. The team is asking you to become an X-Man."

Now Marie looked at Logan. For all he wanted to do, he only nodded. She looked back at Xavier. "I'm not ready."

Honesty, Logan liked that.

"Yes, that's true. But we'd like to ask if you are willing to begin training. I will work with you mentally. You will be trained in other capacities. On that note, you will not be alone. If you and the others agree, you will be training with a few new members."

Marie was silent for a long while. She stared only at her hands until she finally looked up and spoke. "Yes," she said. "But I decide when I'm ready to go on missions…It may take a while."

Storm and Cyclops turned to Xavier. They were expecting this, Logan thought. They were fairly certain she would agree. He was not so sure about Scooter's presence in this discussion, but if it came down to it, the laserbeam was still a member of the team and that meant he deserved to be involved in these decisions. Logan wondered how much about this new training and his own role in it had Xavier discussed with Cyclops. He doubted it was much.

"Then that is settled," Xavier spoke up. "Now if you all excuse us, I would like to begin working with Rogue."

Storm patted Rogue's arm as she left on Scott's heels. "Welcome to the team," she said. She glanced at Logan as she passed him, and he thought her face colored, but she might have been blushing and she might have been angry.

Logan winked at Marie and started to follow, but she caught his shirt and tugged. She wanted him to stay. He stepped back and she mouthed, _thank you._ "We'll talk later, right?" she asked.

"I'll be waiting."

* * *

**What do you think? Really? Come on, tell me...**


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four**

Rogue did not turn back to the Professor until the door closed behind Logan. She felt Xavier exploring her mind, and perhaps she thought it rude of him not asking first, or perhaps Erik thought so, but either way, Erik surfaced and greeted the Professor. Rogue began to sense an energy in the room. Erik closed off her mind.

Xavier narrowed his eyes at Rogue. "I only want to help you."

"I know that. But I'm not the only one in here."

"Why would Magneto block me?"

"I haven't spent that much time with him. I don't know. He still cares about you, though." She sank into the chair and yawned so hard her jaw ached. Erik was still holding strong, she just did not know how. The others, even the Wolverine, were letting him have control. She fiddled with the metal band of her watch and told the Professor what happened that afternoon. When she had finished, Erik was beginning to back down.

"I need to read your mind, Rogue. I can think of a few reasons Erik might want to prevent that, but to help you, I must. Do you understand?"

"It's a mess."

"I have an idea."

He told her to go to sleep, and he woke her from one of Logan's nightmares to inform her he had seen enough. He prescribed meditation. He told her that any attempt on his part to erase her memory of certain people would cause catastrophic damage to her psyche. "They are so much a part of you, Rogue, I'm afraid attempts to extract them could be terrible."

They were not going anywhere. Yes, there was a time when she would have gladly removed Erik, but his past was mingled with hers now, like the Wolverine's. They were going to help her find the switch, learn to turn off her mutation.

She left the Professor's office and headed back to her room. Joining the X-Men was important. She could not screw this up. She had to be as useful as possible. Her sneak attack was simply more intimate than most. And she had to be sure her tenants would not betray her or her friends.

She forgot Logan, but he was waiting by her door to remind her. She could tell him to wait, to give her more thinking time, but what she needed was bargaining time.

"I want to talk to my tenants."

Logan nodded. "What do you need?"

"Just don't let me leave my room." She opened the door and gestured him inside. "I'm really tired so I think everyone else is too. I'm going to try to talk to Erik in my dreams, ask him about something. I don't know what will happen."

"You'll be fine." He settled into the armchair and watched her lie down.

Rogue closed her eyes. Logan had plenty of reconnaissance experience, he would not fail her. She fell asleep quickly and sought Erik. Over a chess game, they discussed his block.

"This is your brain, Rogue. You have enough people here already." He took her Queen. "I shouldn't have to tell you that all we want is to be heard. You already know that. You knew that when you went to Pyro. No, quite simply, my dear, there is nothing Charles can do for you that you cannot do better yourself. I assure you. There is a great deal I can teach you."

Rogue listened. Every day during a shared meditation hour with Logan, and every night while she dreamed, she listened. Erik's pain and torture and mission. Bobby's hope. Pyro's passion. Wolverine's skill and tenacity. They did not so much speak to her as meld fully and fully solicited into her conscience. She realized she could not channel their mutations or turn off her own, but she knew French and German, she knew aikido and the waltz, and more every time she opened up.

On the third day, a Monday, training began with Logan at seven a.m.

* * *

Logan awoke early as always and pushed his morning run in attempt to expel some of his energy. He ate breakfast with Kurt who mercifully enjoyed silence as much as he did. And then he met Rogue in the Danger Room.

She was wearing a tank top and baggy sweatpants, dressed to expose her deadly flesh and he stood there for a moment trying to draw as much attention as possible to his uniform. Finally, he found words. "I like your thinking, Marie, but you're also exposing more skin to be injured. And you should wear the gloves, too, only take them off if you have to, as a last resort. I'm going to show you how to knock them out without sucking them in."

Rogue shrugged in an unsettling and familiar manner, a practice he was almost getting used to. She flexed her fingers. Her pale skin practically glowed in the fluorescent lighting and he though there was the ghost of a smirk on her baby doll porcelain face. For the briefest of moments, his whole body tensed like it was stretching on its own. He called for Colossus to start the simulation and the Danger Room dissolved into the torch of Lady Liberty.

Rogue glanced around warily. "I thought you were going to teach me how to fight. Why are we here?"

"To give you a little pressure, that's all."

Rogue shook her head fiercely. "I don't want to be here. Change it."

He cocked an eyebrow. Was it that traumatizing? He had nearly died there, too. He thought she might be shaking. "Marie."

"Stop this now, Logan. Now."

"Either you can handle stress or you can't, Marie. If you want to be an X-Man, you have to be-"

"Wolverine." There was a different note in her voice, something steel and cold, something unforgiving. "Not yet."

She never called him that, never when she was Marie. He was getting really tired of this crap, of never knowing who he was dealing with anymore, or knowing simply that it was not her. Was her mutation getting stronger or was she trying to let it take control? He particularly hated this awkward realization that Magneto was the one protecting her now, possibly ashamed that he was the reason she feared this place so much if the evil bastard knew shame.

Logan strode up to his protégé. Her eyes were glazed but locked on his and her arms were definitely trembling. He smelled fear and fury. She was not ready for Liberty Island, she was not ready to revisit the site of her near death. Hell, for all he knew, she had died.

"Colossus, shut it down."

Liberty Island disappeared. Metal walls surrounded them again and behind a shaking Marie, they appeared to be shaking as well. Optical illusion.

"Give us a minute." But Colossus was already gone.

"Marie," Logan said.

She blinked and gave herself a canine-like full-body shake, exhaling loudly. "I'm sorry, Logan. There's too much there. I left too much there. I almost – "

"Yeah." Don't cry, kid. He was no good at these sharing sessions, even if they had become painfully more frequent. He and Marie had not discussed some of their recent conversations and for that he was glad; things had been said that he did not want to hear and was trying hard but unsuccessfully to forget. He was not going to let this moment sink into another of those embarrassing heart-to-hearts.

He patted her arm with his gloved hand. "We'll start with some basics," he conceded. "That was a nice right hook you showed me a while back. What else you got?"

For the next hour, Logan directed Marie as she expelled some serious aggression on his punching bag. Her technique was rather admirable, but she did not have the muscle to support her swings. She became increasingly frustrated every time an attempted kick landed her off-balance. He wondered that she even tried to keep the truth from him. When she finally fell flat on her back and was too tired to get up, Logan squatted by her side.

"It's because you don't have any muscle memory, and not much muscle either. It's gonna' take time, Marie."

She sighed. "I know."

"Even with my memories, Marie. Time." He stared off to avoid the stranger's look in her eye. "You haven't told me what you've found on these trips of yours."

Marie smiled, one of her genuine smiles. "Myself. Among other things."


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter Five**

The jeep had not started on its own now for six years, bad starter. Nell was not cheap; she just did not waste money if she did not need to. She thought of it as a unique security device. No one would even try to steal the old blue clunker and it was great on gas.

She slid into the driver's seat just after dawn and touched the ignition to start it. The engine purred to life and she let it warm while she stowed her duffels into the back.

Nell was tired of North Dakota, tired of the cold and the drought and the barrenness. And she had it on good authority that Joshua was in Seattle. She had not seen him in thirty years, could not wait to see the look on his face when he saw hers had not aged a day. Normally, she let the past and past lovers go, but she was bored and never really forgiven Joshua for taking up with that skin-changing mutant. In the end, Joshua (aka Liquid) ended up alone. The Blue Bitch went back to her human magnet and he was not so bad-looking anyway.

So she holed up in the frozen wasteland for a few decades. Back in the dense forest, in her little cabin, she could almost feel like she was home, back in the thick trees and bitter winters of Germany. She did not miss it so much, she honestly had to do mental math to remember how long had passed since she had been in the mother country, but after a string of lousy lovers, feeling like she was home was a comfort.

Thirty-four years, she thought, to be exact. Nell threw the highway map onto the garbage bin; it was twenty years old itself and she reckoned the roads had changed some. Besides, her sense of direction was always one of her strengths. Roads always went somewhere; as long as she kept driving, she would find her way eventually.

She was on the highway soon, making decent time when she felt a twinge, a slight uneasiness, women's intuition. In the far distance, she made out a speck in her rear-view mirror.

* * *

Rogue squirmed slightly in her chair, not much, but enough that she felt Logan's eyes on her. He could stop staring. She was ready and he knew it. Finally, his eyes left her to scan Xavier's office. Cyclops was still missing and she was not so sure he would show.

Professor Xavier too was surveying the ranks. Storm flanked his right and Kurt perched precariously on the windowsill. Logan stood akimbo by the door in his ever-present leather jacket. Maybe it shared his healing factor. Colossus was perusing Xavier's bookshelves.

When Scott came in, he looked like Logan had been tossing him about. His hair was disheveled, his jaw dark with stubble, and his clothes wrinkled. For the first time, she found him incredibly attractive. No one commented on his appearance but Storm frowned and Logan watched him. Over two months had passed now since they lost Jean.

"This morning I used Cerebro to try to track the movements of the Brotherhood once more. For a month, I have not been able to learn anything, but today I discovered that Pyro is en route to recruit or collect if necessary a mutant. We cannot allow the Brotherhood to take her."

"Do you know who it is, Professor?" Colossus asked.

Xavier nodded. "They call her Surge. Her power is similar to that of Jubilee's, only frighteningly stronger. She can not only use the electrical energy in her own body, but summon it from around her. I remember the name. I believe Erik once attributed the Great Chicago Blackout to this woman."

"So she's no spring chicken, eh?"

"You know as well as I do, Logan, that age has little correlation to power where we are concerned."

"What's the plan then?" Logan fished out a cigar.

"I believe Pyro alone is being sent to persuade Surge to join the Brotherhood. I need a team of you to beat him there. I don't know why Erik wants this woman but I am certain his reasons are under-handed. Scott and I have some business to attend to. I would like for Storm to lead a small team to recover this mutant."

Rogue watched Storm's eyes flick from the Professor to Cyclops to Logan. Logan nodded.

"There is always the slightest possibility that this is a decoy. I do not believe Erik would ever attack this school, but some of us must stay behind. You may take everyone else in this room, Storm."

"No, Professor. If I take Logan, I want Pete here." She turned to Colossus. "I trust you to protect the school, Pete. I'll take Logan, Kurt, and Rogue."

The next fifteen minutes passed in a haze as Rogue donned a uniform and watched Storm and Logan ready the jet. They were flying to North Dakota. She was on a mission. After a month of training and meditation, she believed she was ready. She stood in the hangar, contemplating this Surge. She had not said good-bye to Bobby or any of her friends, and she was not going to and she was working to convince herself when Kurt materialized at her side. He was not wearing a uniform.

"Are you not coming?" She could not control the shake in her voice.

"I am with you, frauline."

"It was Jean and Storm who came for you, wasn't it?"

He inclined his head. "They saved me, yes."

"Were you scared? Would you have gone with the Brotherhood?"

Kurt's face was as impassive as ever. "I cannot say. They did not come."

"I just keep thinking – what if she doesn't want to come with us?"

"Perhaps there is one of us who can persuade her to." He looked in the direction of the jet, and Rogue thought of how Storm and Jean convinced him. Then Logan appeared on the ramp and she remembered that she too had been persuaded. Her shoulders eased a bit as she followed Kurt into the jet.

* * *

Logan was not pleased when Chuck radioed halfway to Dakota to inform them that Pyro had acquired Surge. He was less pleased to learn that Pyro was holding her in a secure location because it could only mean reinforcements were on the way.

Storm never could hide her worry well so he kept his mouth shut and began plotting tactics. He was useless against Magneto, but he would not mind a row with the blue bitch. If the other three could not handle the Fireball, then they were not fit for their uniforms. Spirits all around were further oppressed when they landed to discover the secure location was a warehouse not a hundred feet from a transformer.

Storm took charge immediately, saving him the trouble. She ordered Nightcrawler to guard the jet and set off at a brisk pace for the nearest door. Logan caught her up and passed her.

"Knock it off. You know I should go first."

Storm grabbed his arm. "He's just a kid, Logan. We may be able-"

"You worry about our prize. Let me handle who gets in our way." He unleashed his claws. "Find the woman, and don't let _her _out of your sight." He flicked a claw at Marie. "I'm going after Pyro."

Once inside, he quickly outstripped them, not letting himself look back. Rogue had proven over the last few weeks that she could handle a fight and the one time he had really tested her, when had held her down and bared his claws, she had pulled off her glove so fast he barely saw her skin before he felt the tug. He was not sure she was completely ready to take extraordinary measures, but he knew she would do it for Storm.

"Logan."

Jean Grey smiled at him through the dim hallway. His heart raced.

"Logan, this one is dangerous."

"I know. I've already seen this trick. You wanna' fight me or you gonna' stand there looking stupid?"

"We don't have to fight." Jean morphed into Mystique, but stayed where she was, and in the bleak light, her blue skin almost seemed luminescent. "I think you know."

"Gee, as much as I'd like to fuck the woman who tried to kill my friends, it's a different kind of fuck." He held up a set of claws.

"Friends. Not the Wolverine. Unless you've gotten weak." She smirked. "You don't look weak."

"I'm not much of a talker, you know. Let's get on with this."

"Come and get it, loverboy." Mystique stood still, her yellow eyes sparkling.

Logan moved closer, one slow step at a time. He waited for a mirror image of himself to appear, or Jean, or someone else he loved. And then he stopped, _loved. _The blue bitch was right. He was getting soft.

"I'll kill you this time," he threatened.

She only stared.

Logan took the last step. There was a dangerous proximity now, and Mystique could not fake the scent she was emitting. He did not move when she planted her palm against his chest. He was being stupid. She could not kill him, but she could hurt him enough to slow him down and that might mean death for the others. He should end this now. He did not want this blue fiend.

That could be the only reason that he closed his eyes, to prevent himself from seeing the truth when she kissed him. She did not change. He felt it. He felt that she wanted to be herself, her skin, her choice. He would not ask her to change. He did not want to kiss a fake Jean anymore than this monster. Monster, just like him.

And then he had her flat against the wall in the shadows, his body pressed into hers, his claws sheathed and his hands holding her hips to his. The only passion they shared was hate, but he did not want to maul or ruin her, she was already ruined. They were both ruins of real people, transformed into savage beasts, killers, shadows.

Thank god Storm screamed or he might have been totally fucked.

* * *

Rogue stayed a few feet behind Storm as they eased down the dark hall. She sensed her leader's fear and could not suppress a smirk. Who did Logan want to protect whom? And did these halls ever end? The damned fluorescents were blinking and she knew any second they would die and leave her and Storm in the black. It was a childish fear, but she was scared of the dark, of accidentally touching someone in the dark.

She heard footsteps before Storm did, but still too late. Fire brightened the corridor in time to reveal a crate slamming into Storm. The X-Man bounced off the wall and fell in a crumpled heap at Rogue's feet. Rogue gazed up and into the eyes of St. John.

"Where's your boyfriend, babe?"

"Where's your soul?" Rogue snapped back.

"Guess he wasn't doing it for you. But then you really would knock 'em dead, right?"

"Come closer and say that to my face."

Pyro laughed. "If it wouldn't suck the life out of me, I'd do something better."

Rogue rolled her eyes. He was not lying but she was not interested in Sparky, as Logan liked to call him. She heard Storm stirring and fought to keep Pyro's attention.

"You wouldn't know what to do with a real woman, St. John."

"Tempting, very tempting." He stepped over Storm like a mud puddle and stopped just short of Rogue's reach. "Iceman's too cold for you."

The idiot was reaching out, his hand inches from her belt. Rogue stepped back and back. Pyro followed until she backed into a wall. "You can't have her. She's one of ours."

"So were you once. One of ours."

Storm was rising to her feet in frames, her eyes white with fury and power. Rogue shook her head. "Come back with me," she whispered. She concentrated, pulled St. John in her own psyche to the surface, searched his desires, felt his anger.

"Come back with me." The look in his eyes was clear. He was different. He was power ravenous. He could care for her and still hold allegiance to the man who attempted to murder her. He could want her and not give a damn if she died.

Rogue shivered. Her skin tingled. She shook as the rage built. How dare he? How dare he become that? She looked down at her hands, not certain they were hers and back at St. John. The words came out rough but they were hers, hers and Pyro's and though she felt him, she was still present, and pissed. "He would have let her die," she growled.

St. John flicked the lighter. A flame appeared. The heat in her stomach rose. Did she steal it from him, from the air between them, or did the fire that erupted between them warm her as she fueled it? Pyro jumped back, his eyes wide and scared, but he could not avoid the blast that sent him flying over Storm.

Storm ducked, saw Rogue's hands, and opened her plump lips. "Logan!"

Rogue took a deep breath and shook the flames from her gloves. "Are you all right?" she asked Storm.

"Are you? Did he get you?"

She had not seen. She did not know Pyro had not even touched her. She did not know.

"I'm okay, let's go. Before he wakes up." She could hear Logan sprinting toward them and checked to see if Pyro was moving. She could not let herself think about what happened. There was no time now. She may never succeed again. She was not sure what she had done to begin with. She only knew she wanted to do it again, use it to cook St. John for his mutiny and for hurting Storm.

Logan stopped close to Rogue. "What happened?"

Rogue shook her head. "I took care of it. I think she's back that way. He came from there."

Logan passed her without a word and she caught the scent of Mystique. She grabbed his elbow. "Are you all right?"

"Mystique's here. Watch out."

"She kick your ass again?" Storm asked.

"Let's go," Logan ordered. He waited for them to move and saw Storm begin to limp by him. "Son-of-a-bitch! Where is the little shit?"

"No, Logan." Storm's eyes were imploring. She shook her head. "He's just a--"

"He's not just a damned kid." Logan moved in front of her, close, so close that when he bent his head and spoke to her, his breath ruffled her hair, but his words came out in a threatening purr. "You have two choices. You can go back to the jet or you can stay here and endanger the mission because of your misguided compassion. Make that one choice. You're already a hazard. Go."

* * *

Storm was glaring at him. Logan waited for lightning to strike but eventually she looked away and nodded. He hated this. He hated forcing her out but he would not sacrifice her life for her pride. She knew she was endangering herself and them, she knew it had to be this way. He saw understanding in her face, thought he even saw tenderness in her eyes.

"Make sure we've got good flying weather," he told her as she hobbled off. "We're leaving soon."

Storm limped away down the long corridor. Finally, a door opened and closed. A faint light briefly appeared and faded. Logan passed Marie and she said, "she'll forgive you."

He shrugged. She already had. That was Ororo, her anger as brief as her thunderstorms. She did not have Scott's chip on her shoulder.

Logan stayed close to Marie, slowing his pace even, keeping a lock on her scent. Mystique was not going to give up Magneto's prize, even if she had other things on her twisted little mind.

Sure enough she appeared around the next bend like a wraith, leaning against the metal door. "I'm not done with you yet," she purred.

Logan growled. He smelled Marie's fear and Mystique's arousal and somewhere beneath a stranger's scent. Surge was on the other side of that door. He looked at Marie. Her nose twitched and she looked in Mystique's direction. He prayed she was picking up the stranger's scent. He nodded.

Marie pulled off her gloves and shrugged out of her jacket. Her bare shoulders and arms were like cream. Mystique grinned.

"Minage a trois?"

Marie sauntered up to the bitch. Logan had to admire her bravado; she did not hesistate. She was probably hoping the mutant would grab her, touch her for the slightest moment. "Move," she said.

Mystique grinned more broadly and stepped aside. "There are other methods to fix you, girlie," she hissed as the door closed behind Marie.

Pyro. Logan had not killed the brat. He was not even sure Sparky was still unconscious. "Marie!" But she was already gone and Mystique was pouncing. This time, he was going to hurt her.

* * *

The room was full of boxes and crates, ceiling high. Rogue sniffed. Pyro. Pyro and someone else. _Damn._

She crept, trying to mimic Logan's supernatural stealth but every step seemed to echo. She navigated the box maze. Grunts and crashes carried faintly from the hall. She was not worried about him; Logan could handle Mystique.

"How'd you do it?"

Pyro. She could not see him, lurking somewhere in front of her, behind rows of boxes.

"That's a powerful talent you've got there. Thief."

"Bastard. You could have killed Storm."

"Yeah. I kind of meant to, and you."

Oh god, there was the anger again, quelling up just beneath the surface, boiling. She forced herself to concentrate on the mission. "Where is she?"

"Come and see. She's something special."

Left, left, right. Clearing. And then suddenly there she was. She was younger than Doctor Grey. She was tied to a chair with rubber gloves on her hands. Her ragged jeans and flannel shirt looked slightly singed, and the shimmering blue eyes that set on Rogue were bright with rage.

"Couldn't convince her, huh? She wasn't interested in murder and chaos?"

The woman raised an eyebrow in a strikingly familiar way and muttered in German.

"I'm waiting for my translator to arrive, that's all," Pyro retorted. "How'd you do it?"

"What's wrong? Scared of little me?"

"Power like yours has purpose, Rogue."

"I know. You want to tell me again why I should join forces with – with –" Anger. Heat. Oh, dear. Rogue swallowed. "Don't make me angry, St. John."

He had the sense to look wary. "I don't think you can do it again."

"That's a big chance to take."

"Join us."

Surge growled something in German and flexed her fingers.

"Get over it," Pyro warned. He pulled out his lighter and gazed at Rogue as he lit it. "Go ahead. Light up."

She tried. She pulled. Nothing. The heat was gone. He was right and if Logan did not finish Mystique soon, she would be ash.

"John. Let her go. While you can. You can be good."

He laughed and moved the fire to his fingers. "But maybe I don't want to." He raised his hand.

"Nine!"

Both turned in time to see Surge surrounded by crackling blue light. Every hair on Rogue's body rose. Electricity shot from the mutant almost like tentacles and they wrapped around St. John, a lightning cocoon. He could not scream; he simply dropped. Rogue smelled seared flesh. She stared at this blonde fury as she stood, the burned ropes falling in splinters to the concrete. She sneered at the gloves as she dropped them. And finally she turned to Rogue.

"You okay?"

Rogue flinched. German? "We came to save you."

The woman smiled. "We should go. There's another and she's no peach."

"Don't worry about her."

More crashing sounds supported her point.

"How do we get out of here?" Surge asked.

Rogue started to lead her out, and then there was a crash, and then her world went dark.

* * *

**Reviews? Yeah, you must want to, somewhere, deep down.**


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter Six**

When Mystique ran, Logan chased. They played cat and mouse entirely too long for his patience so when he finally had the opportunity for a killing blow, he should have taken it, but he did not. He hit her hard and hoped she would not wake up until Magneto arrived to sneer at her failure and that Storm never knew his own.

Annoyed at himself, he sprinted back to where he had left Marie, and he took the door with him as he entered and waited. Marie's scream was in pain and he made the shortest path to her – through boxes rather than around. He found Pyro first, dead beyond resuscitation, smoking and charred. A woman knelt beside Marie, about to touch her.

"No!" Logan roared.

The woman froze, watching him. They eyed each other over Marie's still body. Her long blonde hair coming loose from its tie. Soot smeared across her right cheek, making her black pupils stand out amongst her dark blue eyes. She was not smiling.

"Did you hurt her?"

"No, the Little Matchstick Boy did that. You could thank him, but he'll never know," she added in a flat tone..

"Yeah, I noticed that." Her eyes were fierce. She bore more marks of Pyro's capture, blackened spots on her shirt, scorch marks and missing patches from her jeans. "You Surge?"

She shrugged. "I'm Nell. You here to save me too?"

"Honestly, right now I'm more interested in her." He pointed at Marie. "Don't touch her. It's her skin. It kills."

The woman stared. She studied him. Her eyes examined him, sizing him up. He watched her eyes. He knew Marie was hurt but breathing. This woman was not the least bit afraid of him. He admired that.

"Did you get the blue bitch?" Surge asked. She contemplated the girl beside her.

Logan grinned, retracting his claws. "The enemy of my enemy."

Nell reached out again.

"No." Logan darted forward and the woman melted back in one fluid motion. Close to her, he felt the hair on the back of his neck rise but the static passed. She smelled of smoke. Later on she was going to tell them exactly how Pyro caught her. For all the burns and holes in her clothes and the black smears in various places on her skin, she did not appear to be burned herself or in any visible pain. But Marie was.

He bent down and scooped Marie up, holding her carefully, keeping her skin away from his since she had shed her jacket to threaten Mystique. "More are coming for you. Or you can come with us."

She stood up lithely, and impossibly more charred spots on her clothes came into display. He noticed a black smudge on her collarbone. She looked from him to the girl in his arms down to the smoldering firestarter, and back up at him. "And who are you?"

"Right now, I'm the one not trying to kill you. Take sides with Smokey here's friends, and that'll change." He adjusted Marie in his arms, spared a glance down at her face.

Surge watched him with an interested expression. "Where are we going?"

"Far away," he said, and he turned with Marie and took off at a fast pace toward the only entrance he knew of.

Nell followed, her slender body and long legs in rhythm with his. She did not seem to be any the worse for the wear, which was surprising considering Pyro's love of destruction.

"What happened?" he asked her in the main hall. He stopped only briefly and nodded at the crumpled jacket that lay where Marie had dropped it. Surge did not even slow, bending to scoop it up as she passed.

"The boy blasted a crate at her," she explained. "I thought he was out. But she'll live."

Pyro would not. Logan snorted. He would not heal Marie until they were on the plane, until they were in the air and safe. "There's more of us. More mutants on the jet outside. Two. We came to – "

"Save me?" She asked with a sideways grin.

"I thought you'd be older."

"You don't look so young yourself."

Understatement of the day.

They reached the plane. He let Surge talk, though she was pretty spare with words. Storm did not need much explanation before she lifted off. As soon as they were in air, Logan pulled Rogue's bare hand to his cheek, ready to heal her, and stopped. It was just a bump to the head, he rationalized. She did not need him soaking into her conscience for every little thing. She would be fine.

But underneath it all, he knew better. Coward. He did not want Marie getting more than his resilience. He did not want Marie to know what he almost did with Mystique, that he even touched her like that. He wanted it to be a bad dream; he had plenty of those already, one more would not bother him.

* * *

On the jet, Nell told the white-haired woman that she was coming and they left. Storm did not hesitate. In the air, she began talking, relating basic information about herself and the others with her, how their powers worked, how they lived at a school for mutants, how they were a team of do-gooders. She also revealed their enemies and some names were annoyingly familiar. Nell was not inclined to share more than was necessary. They already knew about her mutation so she gave them her name.

She was distracted anyway. Rogue was still unconscious, the girl who came to "save her," and the one called Wolverine was stationed by her side.

Storm kept glancing at the large beast from her pilot's seat. "Why don't you just heal her?" she snapped.

The Wolverine did not look away from the kid, but Nell saw his shoulders droop. "Because she has enough of me in there already." His tone was steel.

Nell left the lovers in the cockpit and crouched at Rogue's shoulder. She was still breathing and her color was better. "So you're a healer?" she asked the Wolverine.

He looked at her. He probably wanted to intimidate her, send her away. Behind the anger and the shield and the pain in his eyes, she saw love, pure love, and she nearly fell over. In four hundred years, she could count on her hands how many times she had seen that when it was not bound by blood. Maybe this was.

"Is she yours?" Nell whispered.

"Excuse me?" His eyebrows screwed up.

"Is she your kin?"

"I don't have any family."

Nell regarded the girl. Where had she earned those white streaks? She should not care, should not become attached. She could not stay with these people. She knew Magneto's power and if he came for her, they would all be in grave danger. She fought her own battles and her own lunatics.

"You didn't answer my other question."

The Wolverine stared her down, or tried. "Kind of."

"Kind of?" She cocked her head. "Can you heal anything?"

He shook his head. "Just me." He shrugged and looked down at Rogue. "And her."

Nell stared. That was his gift, he healed, he survived. He had no scars to reveal his demons, no wrinkles to show his age. There was only passion in his eyes. She had never met another like herself. He might be older than her.

She sat, careless of his darkening gaze. She watched him for some flicker of hope, for some sign that confirmed all was not in vain. How many friends had he buried? How many lovers? How many children?

Nell sighed. Pain did not understand time, that it was meant to fade as the years added up. Watching her baby die of old age had cured Nell of any illusions toward fate or God. Her child had been normal. She was a shadow. And here was someone who might possibly understand that one unhealing wound.

"You all right?" came his brusque voice.

She nodded. She had to work to speak steadily and when the words finally came, they were not what she had planned to say. "I loved someone like her once. There was no one else."

He stared down at his charge. "What was his name?"

Nell smiled. She saw him, young and innocent. "Dmitri. He was killed." She could still see the mob that stoned him to death, screaming 'witch'. She gave them a witch.

The Wolverine's face hardened and then softened. He appeared to be holding back words. She shook her head. "Have you lost anyone?"

"Yeah." He nodded, letting his head fall back against the wall. "Her name was Jean."

"Never gets easier. I'd swear it gets fresher everyday. They're gone all over again when you wake in the morning and you mourn them until you aren't sure the world is worth anything without them. And then you go on." Because you cannot die, because you are different.

"You're just a kid." But he did not sound so sure.

"I'm just a shadow."

He did not argue. He did not know her. He had his love. She admired that.

Storm announced they were nearing the mansion.

The Wolverine reached out to Nell. "Logan," he said.

She eyed his hand for a second only, remembering the claws, and then shook it. He dropped back against the wall and she took a seat, strapping in.

* * *

**Reviews anyone? I've been getting some encouragement, but I want to be sure someone's reading...**


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter Seven**

Logan did not have to like her. Yeah, she was magnetic. Yeah, she was a hardass like him. Yeah, she was stunningly beautiful in a natural way. But he did not have to give a damn. He could focus on Jean's death, the woman who he had never had, who did not want him back. Logan growled.

Nell heard. She glanced at him, her blue eyes half hidden by her lashes, before she fell in behind Storm. He followed, willing himself not to check out her figure again. He could do this by looking down at the unconscious Marie in his arms and recalling that she might not be hurt at all if he had not been checking out Mystique's other skills, the real reason he did not want to heal his girl. She would never forgive that betrayal – hell, he would never – but he could not let her down.

He did not have to be a part of this debriefing. He strode right past Scooter without acknowledging him and carried Marie to her room. He was beginning to reconsider the healing idea when Xavier called him. He shook his head.

_Now, Logan_.

He growled again but relented and found himself in Xavier's office. Storm had her leg propped up on an ottoman and it was swelling spectacularly. That was his fault too, Logan reckoned.

"How is Rogue?" The Professor inquired.

"She'll be fine. Just a bump on the head."

Xavier eyed him but Logan did not feel any mental snooping. A glance at Nell confirmed she was watching him as well. He could not read her eyes.

"I'm worried that Erik will retaliate his loss," Xavier said. "He has not handled losing a target well in the past."

"Losses," Nell corrected.

"I'm sorry. What do you mean?"

"The firecracker. I took him out." She looked at Logan. "Did you finish Mystique?"

He shook his head.

Xavier sat up straighter. "You did your best. You had friends to take care of." He paused, his countenance dark, and Logan knew he was thinking about Pyro, but he went on. "Now, Surge, how do you know Mystique?"

Nell laughed, harsh and short. "She stole my boyfriend. She and Erik were on the outs for a while, so she entertained herself with mine."

Xavier frowned. "This was a few years ago."

Nell smiled. "A few."

"You've met Erik then?"

"Briefly. Charming that one. I have no idea why you guys don't like him. He's only been plotting world domination since he was wet behind the ears."

Logan grinned. Humor. Attitude. But he did not have to like her. Scooter was smirking; he could use a laugh.

"Do you share my worry?"

Nell shrugged. "He may go after a bigger fish. I don't know what he wanted me for. I don't know why he didn't come himself instead of sending his lackeys. Either he's busy or he knew I'd never agree – in which case, he meant to distract _you_ from what he's really up to. Neither is good."

Scott stepped forward. He had shaved and he was wearing his uniform. Where exactly had he and Charles been today? He addressed Surge. "How much power can you generate?"

Nell met Scott's eyes. The lights in the room dimmed almost to nothing. Logan felt his hair rising again as he watched her eyes begin to glow. She was not smiling. She was establishing dominance. He had to grin at her attitude.

"Depends on how much is around," she answered finally. The lights recovered. She gave herself a shake and he swore he saw a blue streak dance down her arm. "I like electricity."

Scott turned to Xavier. His voice was steady and his back straight. For the first time in weeks, he was more than a shadow of his former self. Logan wondered, just for a moment, if Xavier had been messing around in Scooter's head, or if the boy had finally quit licking his wounds and decided to be a man again.

"Do you think there's a possibility Magneto wants to use her like he used Rogue?" Scott asked the Professor.

"I don't know. I don't know what he's planning. John was not aware of the larger plan when I read him through Cerebro and now he's…gone."

Xavier did not seem to be coping well with the death of one of his former students. Nell showed no signs of regret. Logan had none. The kid had been a loose cannon and had meant to murder Marie. They were all better off to stop thinking of him as a child. Pyro chose his fate when he defected.

"I need some time to consider our position. We should have a day at least. Kurt, if you would help Storm to the infirmary. And you, Scott, if you'll show Surge to her quarters. And Logan –"

"I'll check on Rogue," he declared. No argument.

Nell noticed the tension on Xavier's face. Her amusement was evident without a smile. She followed Scott out and Logan went next.

Scott strolled down the main hall. "You going to heal her?" he called to Logan as they all moved in the same direction.

"She's got enough of me in her head."

"I figured that out weeks ago," said Scooter with a chuckle.

"She isn't hurt bad." He passed them on the stairs.

"How long has she been unconscious?"

"Anybody else and I couldn't help them." Logan took off down the upstairs hall.

"Anybody else wouldn't be Rogue," Scott said matter-of-factly.

Nell was looking amused again, but she kept her mouth shut and when she met his eyes, he saw uncertainty. She was worried. About Rogue?

"Here. You can stay here."

Logan stopped at the end of the hall where Marie's room was. She was still out when he opened the door and debated, but he could not do it. He glanced up the hall, expecting to see that One Eye was still watching him, but the corridor was empty. He turned and went into his own room, shed his uniform as quickly as he could, and collapsed on his bed.

* * *

Nell followed Scott into the bedroom and glanced around. The bed was a full-size, covered in navy blue dressings which matched the draperies and the upholstery on an armchair that sat by a small desk at the window. The desk and the dresser matched the stain of the wooden paneling that covered the walls and the floor. This school was appearing more and more strange at every turn.

Scott skirted around her to switch on the lamp in the corner. Nell went to the window and parted the drapes. Night had fallen completely, but when she turned off the lights and went to bed, the starlight would shine in. Scott glanced at the window and crossed back to the door, looking around. He popped his head out into the hall.

"Lose something?" she asked.

"Where's your stuff?"

Nell huffed. "By now, probably spread out in itty bitty pieces across highway 19. That little firestarter was not the brightest crayon in Magneto's box. When he blasted my jeep, he bulls-eyed the gas tank." She laughed. "Knocked his car off the road too."

Scott stared, the ghost of a smile slipping across his face at the last part. He was standing near the door now, his hands behind his back like some soldier at ease. He looked her up and down. "So the clothes on your back…"

"Are all that I have left."

Nell looked over herself. The flannel shirt was not the worst, but her white tank top, actually a man's undershirt, was holey in several spaces, decorated with little black circles. Her jeans were the worst. Until now, she had not realized there was a patch missing from one leg, just below her right hip, that was roughly six inches square; the flannel shirt covered it most of the time. Her boots were fine. She did not remember buying flame-retardant boots, but the steel-toe had come in handy while cutting firewood.

Scott was still looking at her. She might have called him on it if it were not for the troubled look on his face. He was not checking her out as much as her wardrobe, unlike the one with the claws. "I may have some things you can wear, if they'll fit you, until you can get more…"

Now it was the distressingly stoic expression on his face that kept her from making a quip about his cross-dressing tendencies. Nell poked her finger through a hole in her flannel shirt and wiggled it at him, smiling ruefully. "If you don't mind," she said.

"Follow me."

He led her further down the hall, past the rooms of Logan and Rogue who she could smell, and around the corner, to the last room. He did not hesitate when he opened the door but he waited a few seconds before he followed her in. Here the drapes were completely closed as well. The room was almost pitch black until he turned on a small bedside lamp and began shuffling through one of two matching dressers.

Nell studied the window. Beneath the heavy maroon drapes, she could discern the edge of a lighter paisley print of curtain sticking out here and there. "Is it your eyes? Does the light bother your eyes?"

Scott paused for a moment but did not look up. "No."

This one was a strange one. Yeah, the Wolverine was odd, but as much as he did not say with words he said with gesture and expression, making it painfully obvious how he felt and what he thought at any given moment. It was an honesty she appreciated. This one was not all that different; his emotions and thoughts were revealed in the absence of gesture, in what felt like a wake of silence that traveled around him. Scott held up a nightgown and the gold on his finger flashed. Nell sighed. She was beginning to discern the outline of a very large hole in this world, a void in the shape of a woman.

Scott turned and showed her the nightgown. She nodded that it would fit and watched him toss it onto the bed. He went back to the drawer but with less vigor. Nell walked over to the bed and looked down at the plain black nightgown, thin straps, soft cotton. She smiled.

"She never wore it, did she?"

Scott stopped. He turned slowly, and she could not tell with the visor where he was looking but she doubted it was at her. "Only a few times. It's fairly new. I think one of the girls gave it to her as a wedding present."

The last words died as they came out. Nell dug her hands into her jeans pockets, only to find one pocket was bottomless and her fingers came out at her thigh. She sighed again. "You don't have to do this. I'm sure I can borrow something from Storm or Rogue for a day or two. I don't want—"

"It's all right," he interrupted quietly. "She's never going to wear them again."

His chest sank on the last sentence, sank like a hillside caving in. The words were choked with the effort of holding back tears. She did not suppose he wanted to cry in front of a stranger, but the way he took a deep breath and tried to stand a little straighter suggested he was tired of crying.

"Jean?" Nell asked. Then she saw the picture on the nightstand. It was lying on its back but she could see the photograph, the white of the wedding dress and the red hair of the woman in it. Her smile was incredible.

Scott only nodded.

Nell glanced at the nightgown again. She could not imagine appearing in front of all these people in the morning in that woman's clothes, like a walking reminder of who they were all still mourning. She had been in mourning too many times herself. "The nightgown is enough, really. I can wash these clothes. I'll take care of it." She reached out and patted his shoulder as if this might reinforce her point.

"I'm sorry," he said.

"Really, it's not important."

"For earlier. I didn't mean to step on your toes."

Nell shrugged. "I didn't mean to come off like a bitch. It's just been a long day."

"It's been a long year."

"But we're still here."

He was definitely looking at her now. "Do we get points for that?"

She met his hard gaze. "Yeah, I think it counts for something."

"It shouldn't have happened, that's all."

"History of the world, pal."

Scott studied her, the corners of his mouth finally tweaking in what was barely a smile. What was he thinking? The smile subsided. He picked up the nightgown and handed it to her. "You killed Pyro."

"I'm beginning to think he was a friend of you people."

"Not anymore. Friends don't leave each other to die." The words seemed to hit him as he said them. His posture betrayed he was lost in thought where Nell could not read his eyes.

She left him staring forward, presumably at nothing, and wandered back up the hall to the room where she would be sleeping until she figured out what the hell she was going to do about this new development. She had to like these people. They were honest, good people. She had not had so much human contact at once in four or five years, hiding out like a pathetic hermit in her little cabin, nursing her wretched little broken heart. She was better than that. The time for hiding out, for healing, was done; it was time to come back into the world of the living. It was ironic, in a way, she thought, because some of these people seemed to be just emerging back into that world themselves, and if Magneto was after her, she was not going to be in a position that would endanger any of them.

* * *

**All right...What are you thinking so far? Do you want to keep reading? Do you want to tell me why?**


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter Eight**

Back in her room, Nell sat on the edge of the bed, toweling her hair dry and loving the feel of clean. Her clothes were draped over the desk chair and she shook her head whenever she looked at them, but they were not completely in shreds and she was rather fond of that particular flannel shirt.

A knock on the door startled her. She had not heard anyone approach over the towel.

"It's Rogue," called the girl's southern drawl.

Nell adjusted the one towel around her and went to the door. Rogue grinned and held up a cup of coffee in one hand and a large knit bag in the other. "I thought you could use these."

Nell took the coffee with a grateful smile, let her in, and shut the door behind her. Outside, she could hear others moving about as the rest of the school began to wake up. She sat back on the bed, loving the heat of the coffee cup between her palms, and smiled at Rogue. The girl was wearing a black turtle neck shirt without shoulders and black gloves. What was the point of a shoulder-less shirt? Especially when your skin sucked people dry.

Rogue went over to the dresser and started emptying its contents onto the top. Clothes piled up. "You're smaller than me, but I think you can wear some of my things. Just in case, I went around to Jubilee and Kitty and asked if they had anything you could borrow. They gave me these." She held up a random assortment of articles. "And they said you could keep them!"

Nell choked slightly on her coffee and went over to the dresser where Rogue stood. "They didn't need to do that," she said quietly. God in Heaven knew what was fashionable for teenage girls these days.

Rogue shrugged. "You know how girls are. Wear it a few times and get tired of it. I'm not any better." She glanced at the scorched clothes in the corner. "I guess you're a little more frugal about it, but these should do you until you can get to the store and replace what you lost."

Nell nodded, sitting the cup down at a safe distance, and sifting through the clothes. She pulled out the jeans first and tried on a couple beneath her towel. She was thankful they did not come with pre-designed damage like holes and fringe. They were plain boot-cut jeans and with a smile, she concluded that was probably why they had been designated give-away's; they were not so cool as to be vital to a wardrobe. She checked the tags on the shirts. There were several long sleeved, fitted shirts, a couple of sweaters, and a tank top. A few shirts had logos on them that she did not recognize, but Rogue was right, they would do for a few days, and beggars could not be choosers.

She was reminded of the clothes that must have burned up on the highway. She had not even owned a dress in ten years. She realized she probably had not owned one article of clothing that was younger than this teenager grinning at her. What the hell had she been doing out there in the wilderness for thirty years? – cutting firewood, building fires, stoking fires, eating oatmeal and eggs, tending chickens and shooting foxes, repairing the southeast corner that kept trying to collapse, watching the winter come and go time after time, and reading Agatha Christie and Louis L'Amour. She sighed as she watched this friendly girl with the spooky white streaks around her face, this girl that had not been born yet when she bought that jeep.

Rogue smiled, her eyes curious. Nell forced herself to smile back. "Thank you. Tell them all I said thank you."

Rogue beamed broadly and began folding the clothes back into neat piles. Nell dropped back onto the bed's edge and continued drying her hair. "So you healing all right?" she asked.

"I got plenty of rest. You?"

"I don't sleep much. Too much energy." She grinned. "And I'm waiting for Erik to swoop down on us any moment. Son-of-a-bitch." Where the hell did he get off thinking he could send one of his lackeys to abduct her and shanghai her into his army of darkness? It was more insulting than his blue harlot stealing her old flame. She was not totally oblivious to the outside world. She drove the fifteen miles into town once a month for groceries and such and she always bought a newspaper so she knew she was part of what was considered the "mutant problem," but she knew only Erik Lyncher would go and start cutting through the thin thread they were all hanging onto. Thirty – forty – years ago, there was no "mutant problem." Granted, there were fewer mutants and with that McCarthy jerk and then the Cold War, people were more worried about other strangers. Half of the trouble Magneto was fighting was caused by the turmoil he wrought.

"He almost killed me once. Logan saved me." Rogue's back was to Nell as she folded, but her voice was clear and steady, reminiscent.

"He carried you all the way from the Dakotas. He's interesting."

"That's nice way to put it." Rogue laughed. "You don't like him?"

"No, I just know what it's like."

"Being a mutant." The girl's voice darkened slightly then.

Nell bunched the towel in her lap and studied her hands there. There were no age spots, no scars, no scabs, only a few freckles that were as old as she was. Her hands were as smooth and soft as this teenager's. "Being like him."

Rogue stopped folding. She looked over her shoulder and waited. Her eyes widened.

"I've never met another like me." That was saying something too; four hundred years of encounters with all kinds of mutants, and never was there one who survived like her. Was the planet really that big? Or was her world that small? She had spent quite a bit of her time in the middle of nowhere. All right, then, maybe the "mutant problem" was not that new. After all, she had not spent all those years in seclusion because of relationships gone awry. If she was totally honest with herself, some of those years she was the "witch" avoiding the villagers.

"You're like Logan?" Rogue asked almost incoherently. She glanced at Nell's hands.

"Not exactly like him." She shook her head and balled one hand into a fist. "No claws, but like I told Charles this morning, I did cause the Great Chicago Blackout. Decades ago. I've got centuries on Erik."

"Does Logan know?"

"About the Blackout?"

"About you?"

"Why?"

Rogue came over and sat next to her. "He can't remember. He's only got fifteen years in his head and they're sketchy. But he's older." She shivered and shook herself. "I catch glimpses of his other lives. I don't know which are real."

Nell leaned in, studying the girl's face. She was so earnest and open, so heartfelt and dear; her mutation was like a slap in the face of her gentle demeanor. How many years had passed since Nell buried Mina? Without thinking, she reached out and tucked a strand of white hair behind Rogue's ear. "How many people have you got in there with you?"

Rogue laughed until she cried. Nell bit her lip and waited.

"I'm sorry. I just feel like I can talk to you. You remind me of him, only less standoffish."

Nell raised an eyebrow and Rogue collapsed in another fit of laughter, but this time it did not end in sobs. She grinned at Nell. "I like you. You don't mess around when it matters. You didn't want to kill John, but you did to save us."

"He wouldn't have hurt me for long," Nell amended. "But, yeah, he pissed me off."

More laughter. "You could fit in here. I know it's sudden. It was sudden for me too and for Logan. We ended up here like you did. One of Magneto's minions tried to get us and the X-Men rescued us, brought us here."

"So that's how you met?"

"No. I found him in a bar in Alberta. I persuaded him to give me a ride. Come to think of it, his truck blew up, too. Anyhow, he took care of me. We take care of each other…He doesn't like it when he can't save the day."

"It's never easy when you know you might be the only survivor." She frowned. "Is this about Jean?"

"Lately, everything is about Jean. Nobody admits it, but it's the truth."

She was such a wise child. Nell wanted to comfort her, could not quell this growing urge to wrap her arms around her and cradle her. She did not look like Mina, different face, different hair, but the expression in her eyes, the wisdom beyond her years, that she had in common with Mina, and the pain. Mina was never jealous of her mother's gift; she saw all too well the torture that came with watching everyone around you grow old and die and she never begrudged her mother for that. Did Rogue see that? Logan said there was enough of him in the girl already. Did Rogue feel that pain through his memories?

"What happened to her?"

Rogue's eyes welled up with sparkling tears. "We were far away from here. Everything was going to hell. There was a dam and it was about to collapse and the jet wouldn't fly. I think that's my fault, I think I damaged something when I tried to help. I think I killed her." She sobbed.

"Rogue." And then she took the girl's hand, took the gloved hand that was balled in a savage fist, and Nell squeezed it in her own. "Go on."

Rogue nodded, sucked in air, and continued. "Well, it wouldn't go and we knew the water was coming. We could hear it. And then suddenly she was gone and she was outside in the snow. Somehow she powered the jet, it came from her. They tried to stop her, to get her, but she wouldn't let them. She told us there was no other way and then the jet went up and the water crashed in and she was gone."

No wonder there was a Jean-shaped hole in the center of these people's world. "She saved all of you?"

"We would have drowned or frozen. I don't even know. She protected us." She was crying softly, tears easing down her cheeks.

It was a sacrifice Nell would never be able to make, a gift and a punishment, to give her life for someone else. "She died for love," she told Rogue.

"It can't bring her back."

"It shouldn't. An action like that, a choice like that, it's sacrosanct. Love is the greatest strength we have, Rogue. You're stronger than you know. You can get through this."

"It doesn't change that she's gone."

"No. I suppose it hurts all the more, but we go on. She knew what she was doing. She did what she had to do." She remembered her conversation – if you could call it that – with the Wolverine yesterday. In less than twenty-four hours, she had met two men who were deeply in love and in deeply in mourning over the same woman, and this child had one of those men somehow tangled up in her consciousness. "Is this about you or Logan?"

Rogue bit her lip. Was she considering the same question? "He loved her," she answered vaguely. "He really loved her."

"He loves you."

The girl smiled. "I know." She stood up and wiped her eyes with her sleeves. She took a very deep breath and her whole posture changed. "Professor Xavier wants to believe that Erik won't come here, that he won't compromise the integrity of this school, but I know better. He's sent his agent here before. I think he'll do it again, if he really wants you. But it's more likely he'll try to lure you out, like he did me once."

"I'm ready. I hope he sends his girlfriend. I've been waiting thirty years for a proper row with that chameleon," she told Rogue as the girl, giggling, slipped back into the hallway.

Nell fell back onto the bed with a force. After three and a half centuries, she had not tears left in her heart for her daughter, and she was never sure that Mina was the one who needed them. She remembered reading somewhere once, in all the tons of pages she had consumed over the years, some wise woman had said, _Pray for the dead and fight like hell for the living._

Nell repeated the phrase in her head, like a mantra, building momentum all the while, until the words were carved into the bedrock of her mind, until she knew there were few things on earth as true as those words, and then she stood up, and went on. She could feel, in that ethereal place deep in her bones and blood, she could feel a storm coming, and she had been sheltering herself for far too long; it was time for her to be the shelter.

Or if worse came to worse, she would be the storm.


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter Nine**

In the middle of the night, a new nightmare came. Logan chased Mystique. They fought and fought, until they were both bleeding and he finally took that killing blow, and while she lay on the cold concrete, surrounded by boxes and cables, bleeding red blood from blue skin, he sprinted back through the warehouse, down seemingly endless, crowded corridors, racing to the origin of a scream, and when he finally reached ground zero, he found himself face to face with Pyro's sneer. On the ground at the boy's feet lay Marie and Ororo, bleeding the same red blood he had just freed from Mystique. He could not move, he could not even scream, but he was lifted off the ground, rotated by some unseen force, and then he was back on the train months ago, watching helplessly as Magneto lifted him by his adamantium skeleton and Marie cowered. He awoke screaming, his claws out, his throat raw.

The room was dim, lit only by the scant moonlight filtering in through the solitary window. He forced himself to sit up, to slow his breathing and his heart so that he could hear something beyond himself. He did not need the Professor's psychoanalysis or Jean's prodding or Marie's empathy to understand the nature of this nightmare. It was the first time, though – that he could remember at least – when he dreamed of his worst fears. The memories were savage but he had lived them enough times now that their burn faded quickly once he awoke. This pain still gripped him, held on like a vice, this fear of being too late, of being too slow, of being useless. This was a new pain, an infant itself, born only a few months ago, borne without his permission of the strange relationship that sparked between he and Marie and then between he and the X-Men. He was not a father or a brother or a friend before then, he was the Wolverine.

He could not remember an exact moment when these people became so important to him, when they became his _friends_, when Marie became his _family_. He did remember the moment when he realized he could not leave, not for good – that moment when he was speared against the inside of the torch at the Statue of Liberty, that moment when Marie screamed for help – that was when he knew where he belonged: in between people like her and assholes like Magneto. And Jean had her own hold over him. Once he stayed, he slowly carved out a place where he fit, where there were people he felt a desire – even more than a need – to protect.

You got used to people, you came to like them. Jean was gone; no point in praising her virtues anymore, it only led to pain. Charles meant well, though he was sometimes so supercilious and self-righteous Logan could barely keep his claws in. Ororo could be moody and naïve, but she was loyal to the core. Scooter, well, he was honest, and not entirely stupid, and if he ever pulled himself back into the light of day and took up his place again, he might be worth something; his appearance earlier notwithstanding. Kurt was beyond obtuse; his faith in some omnipotent god responsible for all the chaos that rained down on earth daily was almost as laughable as it was insulting. Logan had learned a long time ago that if there were any gods, they were neither omnipotent nor merciful, they were downright spiteful. Kurt was friendly, though, and damned useful in a fight. Colossus was solid – in more ways than one – and could be trusted to hold his own and protect those who could not defend themselves. Bobby was turning out all right, though he still had a long way to go as long as it was not with Marie. And Marie…she was his. He had keep a steady and increasing vigilance over her since she stole Scott's bike and went bar-hopping, and though she seemed to be in control, he seldom felt completely at ease with her. Between waiting for another awkward heart-to-heart and wondering which voice in her head was coming out of her mouth, he was not all that certain she would ever be Marie again. More and more so, he was not sure that this journey she was making was intended to free Marie.

And here he was again, wondering just when the hell he had let himself care so much. Sometimes he could not stomach how tame he had become, but even more so, he could not stomach the thought of losing her because he failed in some way. She anchored him and she tried him like the little sister Scott compared her to.

No way he was going back to sleep tonight – 3:32 this morning, rather. He needed a beer. He needed a lot of things that were stronger than beer. He needed to get away and be him again before he broke down completely, a grizzly tamed into a teddy bear. For a moment, the tamed bit held him back again: could he leave? Would they be safe without him? Yes, he growled. There was a whole damned building full of mutations and people who knew how to use them; they would be fine.

He pulled on his jeans and boots, grabbed his leather jacket from the hook as he opened the door, and eased out into the hall. Heading for the west stairwell to avoid as many rooms as possible, he almost passed by Scott's door before he realized it was ajar. A thin crack of light caught the far wall.

"Leaving again?" Scott's voice came quiet but hard through the slit.

Logan kicked the door open further. The light from the bedside lamp outlined Scott where he sat, slouched over the edge of the bed. He did not look up.

"What's the matter? You sleep all day and you can't at night?"

"I don't think anyone on this hall could have slept through the scream you let out a minute ago." The head lifted and Scott regarded him behind those red glasses.

Logan took a deep breath. He probably gave some of them nightmares. "Yeah. Sorry about that."

Scott's head turned. He stared at Logan, a grin slowly spreading across his unshaven face. "Did you just apologize?"

Logan struggled for some smart remark to fling back at him, but he was tired and he had not shed the remnants of his own nightmare, and Scott looked like an old man there. He was tired of this. Hundreds, thousands of people died everyday, and here was one perfectly alive and abusing it. Pain was one thing, mourning was one thing, but – damn it! – he loved Jean too, more than he was willing to admit and he was not going crawl into a hole and forsake everything that she sacrificed to save them.

"Get up," Logan ordered.

"What?"

"Get your ass up. Get off the bed. Get dressed."

"Where the hell do –"

"Now!" Logan roared.

Scott stood up, his shoulders back, defiant. He was angry. It was not good enough. He had to be more than angry.

"Let's go, One Eye. We don't have all night. Danger Room. Now."

"It's 3 o'clock in the morning."

"When has there been a better time to kick my ass?" Logan offered. He was not doing this for Scott. This was for Jean, because Jean loved Scott, because he loved Jean. Maybe Cyclops needed a good fight and a few bruises to remind him he was still alive.

Scott did not move, but his stance changed. The defiance faded. "I don't want to kick your ass, Logan."

"Now who's not acting like himself? This is a one-time offer, bub. Take it or leave it."

"As much as I would love to kick your ass, really, I don't want to. I just want…"

"Yeah?"

"A beer."

Scott waited, watching him he knew, for some indication that this was okay to say, that he had not crossed the line and committed a friendly act toward him. Logan knew this was not a peace offering, just a ceasefire. It was time for the enemies to put down their guns long enough to meet between the trenches and play cards and drink until the sun and war came back up. "I'm driving," Logan declared.

"Good. Because I don't want to be the designated driver." Scott smiled.

Logan left him to change and went on down to the garage. After searching out the keys, he had just settled into Scooter's car and started the engine, when Scott arrived. He climbed in the passenger side in silence and Logan steered them into the city, back to that dank little dive he had rescued Marie from. In a corner booth there, over beer and cigars, Logan and Scott drank until dawn. They did not talk about Jean. They talked about the game on television or the drunks playing pool or how the bartender looked like Humphrey Bogart.

Around six a.m., as Scott was sobering, he brought up Magneto.

"What do you think he's planning?" Scott asked.

"You're asking me?"

"Yeah. I'm asking you."

Logan took a long drag from his cigar. He had been racking his brain over the same question for a couple of days now. "I don't know."

"What if he's not actually planning anything? What if it's simpler?"

"Like what?"

"He wanted Surge. He sent Pyro to get her. She's powerful. She'd be one hell of an ally for someone like him."

Logan saw where this was going and he did not like it. "He's lost some stooges. Toad, Sabertooth. Now Pyro. You think he's recruiting?"

"I think maybe he's trying to recoup his losses."

"We caused most of them." Actually, he thought, they had caused _all_ of them.

"Yeah."

Logan could smell Scott's fear then. "What?"

"What better way to get revenge than to take from ours?"

"You think he'd go after the children?" He felt a chill pass through him.

"I think he's capable. He can rationalize all kinds of evil in the name of his mission. But I think he would find it all the more vicious and vindictive – especially to the Professor – to turn them to the Brotherhood, stealing our allies to fill his ranks."

The two regarded each other over the weathered, alcohol-stained table. The longer Logan thought about it, the more sense the idea made, and the angrier he became. He had taken care of the last men who were crazy enough to attack that school and he would deny Magneto no lesser treatment.

"Guess we better prepare then."

Scott nodded. He picked up his beer and held it out, waiting. After a moment, Logan took his and clanked it against Scott's.

"We're not friends, though," Logan said.

"Hell, no, and I'm still in charge of the X-Men."

"Damn right, pain-in-the-ass job and you can keep it. I just train 'em." He grinned through his cigar.

"Just so we're clear."

Both nodded. Logan took a swig and held out his beer again. Their bottles clanked. "Good," they both said at the same time.

"All right. Let's go," Logan said, standing up. "If we hurry, maybe no one will see us together."

Scott snorted. "What do you have to worry about? I'm the one with a reputation to uphold."

* * *

**So? How's it going out there in readerland?**


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter Ten

Rogue was awake at 7:30 a.m. when Logan and Scott did their best to skulk down the main hall to the Professor's office. Truth be told, she had been awake since roughly 3:30 in the morning when Logan's scream ripped the night wide open; the scream of a wild animal in pain, of a widowed lover, of a _man_, and it woke something inside of her as much as her body. She shivered and she trembled and her mind reeled as her skin tingled. Inside her, the Wolverine howled, as if in answer; Bobby and Pyro cowered; David faded a shade paler; Erik flinched; and Marie gasped.

_A beast like that is unpredictable, my dear. Wild animals cannot be trusted. He only cares about himself._

_And how are you any different, bub?_

Rogue scrambled to get out of bed, but her feet tangled in the sheets, and she landed on her elbow and her knee, swearing. The scream replayed again in her mind; it knotted the pit of her stomach and weakened her knees. A vision of Logan appeared in her mind: teeth bared, shoulders broad and hard, claws out, feet spread. She shivered again.

_Please tell me you do not find that ridiculous abomination attractive. For god's sake, he's a failed experiment._

Rogue giggled, weakly, uncertain, and she then clamped a hand over her mouth and stopped. The Wolverine in her head had gone into hiding, like he always did when she thought of the real thing in a certain way, but she could not help it, could not stifle this heat in her chest. She had always admired him – his character, his rakish grin, that look he gave her with the eyebrow, even that gravelly purr of his – but she had never been here before, never wondered exactly what those muscles would feel like, straining above her.

_Stop that at once, child._

"I am not a child," Marie warned.

_You are neither his chit. Look, he's gone blushing back into his hole. He doesn't want you, my child._

_"_No one does," she muttered. No one would ever _want _her.

_Now, now. You cannot blame them for that. You could kill a man with a kiss. There is no sense in imagining anything beyond that._

Rogue nodded and then she giggled hysterically again that she was nodding her head while having a conversation with a squatter living inside it.

_Don't call me that. It sounds ill-bred._

She started crying. He was right. She would never know what it was like, never even have a good kiss let alone _know _a man. She would never have a lover, a husband, a child. She would be alone for the rest of her life, like a flame in the room, a presence they might appreciate but could never touch lest they burn up.

_It doesn't mean we don't love you, Rogue. We all love you,_ came Bobby's quiet voice, but Erik's was louder and it paved over Bobby's like a four-lane highway over a dirt road: _She doesn't want pity, you fool. It isn't good enough, is it, Rogue? It isn't enough. You want more. _

She stilled. She held back a sob.

_That's right, my dear. Control yourself; that's exactly what I am speaking of. _

"I've been trying," she whispered.

_These things don't happen overnight. Do you think I could manipulate metal perfectly on my first attempt? Don't be naïve. Learning is a process. It takes time. You have already made some impressive bounds._

"But I couldn't control it. The fire that hit Pyro—"

_Nevermind that impulsive brat. His gift is wild because he is – was. Mine is not so unstable. You were in control when you crafted that flower with your mind._

"You helped. That was a fluke."

_That attitude will get you nowhere. Are you going to be a quitter? Are you going to run at the first sign of complications, like the Wolverine? You are better than that._

The Wolverine did not resurface, but she knew it was some hybrid of his voice and her own that growled: "You tried to kill me. I don't have to listen to you."

_No, by all means, listen to that rabid animal, or to that silly boyfriend of yours, or to that wildcard who you treated to his own deadly medicine. Don't listen to me. I'm just an old man who believes in a brighter future._

"You're not the good guy."

_Black and white, my dear. Lines. The world is not really put together that way, you know. I would have let you die, yes, not because I was afraid of you or what you can do, but because it would have been for something. It would have meant something. Sixty or seventy years from now, if this war doesn't kill you, if you manage to die of old age – alone – will you be able to say that your death means anything? That you were part of something? Or will you just be the girl afraid to reach out and touch anything? So afraid of herself that she's nothing more than a background drop on the stage, not even a prop, and certainly not a player. _

"What if I can't? What if it's a pointless effort?"

_Then I will be ashamed to have taken up lodging in such a pathetic mind. There is nothing in this world that isn't worth trying for if you truly want it._

"I am not your toy. I remain in control."

_My dear, this will always be your mind. You are ultimately the one in charge, here._

Rogue took a deep breath. So what now, she thought, looking at the red digital clock letters.

_There is no time like the present._

Rogue pushed herself up from the floor, straightened the covers, pulling them neatly over the bed. She dressed and sat in the green armchair in her corner and there she closed her eyes and looked into the eyes of Erik. He smiled politely and held out a bare hand. Rogue took it.

Hours later, it was the sound of four booted feet on the hall, and the sound of Logan's and Scott's hushed voices as they passed her door that brought her back into the present. She was stiff from sitting in that chair, but she was not tired, despite her interrupted sleep. She was – if she had to put the sensation in words – rudely awake. Every object in the room came to her in sharper focus. Every sound was clearer and louder. She felt like she had come out of hibernation, rested and revived. She was ravenous.

Down in the kitchen, she was relieved to find herself alone. The students had probably filled the dining room, but the X-Men preferred the quiet and the atmosphere of eating with the few other adults. Bobby and Kitty often alternated between the dining room and the kitchen, wanting to catch up with their other friends, but Rogue stayed in the kitchen; she saw her classmates enough in class.

She had just settled down with a plate of eggs and sausage when Storm walked in, smiling broadly at Rogue. Rogue forced a smile back, quieting Erik's sarcastic comments about the woman's limp.

"Good morning, Rogue. Thank you again for yesterday. I think you've really helped to make Nell feel welcome."

Rogue nodded. She liked Nell. She had spent most of the day yesterday playing goodwill ambassador, showing Nell around the mansion, keeping her company at lunch and dinner, acquainting her with others. And she enjoyed it. She had felt good being useful in that capacity. Even before their hard talk, she had felt at ease with her, knew deep down that this one was not afraid of her, just like Logan. Logan, however, had kept a suspiciously low profile yesterday. In all their wanderings around the mansion and its grounds, only once did they see Logan, out running the perimeter of the property, a flash on the horizon. He was clearly avoiding one of them.

"It was fun," Rogue agreed. "I hope she stays."

"We can always use another ally."

That was not what Rogue had meant, but she said nothing.

"Maybe you can convince her to stay," Storm said with a smile. She poured herself a glass of orange juice and leaned over the counter, looking at Rogue. "You seem to have a talent for that."

"That wasn't me before. Logan stayed for Jean. You know that."

Storm looked like she had been slapped. Her eyes widened and she straightened, her elbow nearly knocking her glass over. Her mouth opened.

Rogue simply stared back. What was the harm in honesty?

"Is that what you think?" Storm managed to get out.

"I said it."

Storm crossed her arms, searching Rogue with angry eyes. "That's a load of crap and you know it. What's going on in there?"

If people did not stop asking her that, she might be tempted to tell them. "I'm not saying he doesn't care about me, but he stayed for Jean."

Storm sneered and it turned her pretty face a shade of fearsome. Her posture changed and that hip came out at its ever haughty angle. "Then why is he still here, Rogue?"

Rogue shrugged, but the Wolverine was slowly waking up inside her, crawling back out of his little cave, and he was not happy. Rogue cursed herself inside. She had been giving Erik too much of her ear; he had never liked the Wolverine, did not give the man the credit he deserved. She sighed and ran her hands through her hair, trying to push back the influence of the old man. When she felt a little more room in her head, she looked back at Storm.

"You're right. But don't assume it's me either. Maybe it was at first, but he's gotten attached to y'all. He'd never admit it, you know."

"We've gotten attached to both of you," Storm said, and relaxed slightly, but there was still a questioning gleam in her eye when it rested on Rogue. She nodded and finished her orange juice. "Hurry up and finish your breakfast. We've both got to be in class soon."

Rogue nodded and watched Storm go, obviously ill at ease but trying to cover it. Rogue had several classes that day, including Storm's history class, and she had to acknowledge gratefully that Storm had never brought up the embarrassing incident weeks ago which _Bobby_ had finally revealed to her – maybe Logan was too chagrined himself. At any rate, Storm let people be. If she poked her nose where it did not belong, it was her way of reaching out, of trying to help. Rogue had always liked her and she mentally kicked Erik for being such a cad to her.

Interestingly enough, Erik had said nothing about Nell. Maybe he was feeling her out, like the Wolverine, who if he had his way – Rogue was certain – would be feeling up the new mutant as well. She chuckled, ignoring Erik's distaste over this truth, and finished her breakfast. She would see Logan that afternoon for training and then she was going to ask him where he had come sneaking back in from in the early morning, and what he thought of Nell. In the mean time, she had math class with Scott, and since he had been content to leave his five-o'clock shadow on a regular basis, she thought he might serve her little hormone rush just as well for the time being. She felt Erik cringe at this and she laughed. After all, she could not kill anyone in her daydreams.

* * *

When Logan and Scott had arrived at Charles' office, he was expecting them. Logan fished out a cigar and lit up, standing off to one side as Scott informed the Professor of their conclusion. Scott stood up straight. The hesitation was gone from his stance and the hollowness from his voice, at least for the time being. If he could continue like this and not return to being that puffed up, priggish, holier-than-thou nancy boy, Logan might be able to stand the guy for more than a few minutes at a time.

Charles' first question was: "Have you spoken to Surge about this?"

"No," Scott replied.

"Why?" Logan asked.

"She may have heard something important in her time with John. He may have said something that will corroborate this theory." Xavier moved out from behind his desk and rolled between the two of them.

Logan pointed vaguely with his cigar at the door. "Rogue told me that Nell didn't talk to him. She let him think she only spoke German so I don't know how much he wasted trying."

"It is still worth investigating. I agree that your theory is a likely one." He frowned and put his hands in his lap, studying them for a moment before looking up at the bookshelf behind Logan." But I don't believe Magneto would come here. He wouldn't betray me so deeply."

Logan eyed him. "You gonna' let these kids' lives ride on your trust in that maniac?"

Charles watched him for a long time. Logan expected to feel the man in his head or hear him retort with some self-righteous remark, but Xavier seemed to be thinking to himself. After a long silence, he replied, "No."

Logan nodded. Damn right.

"We need to lock down the school," Scott said.

"That is not a decision to be made lightly."

"Yeah, let's talk about it some more," Logan muttered. "Maybe that'll fix it."

Xavier frowned at him. "I do not deny it is a sensible move, but we need to act as a team. I want _all_ of the X-Men here this afternoon, as soon as classes are over. We will discuss this together. After the meeting, _I_ will inform the students of the lockdown."

They had nothing else to say. Scott hurried off to change before class, not wanting to "smell like a dive" in front of his students. Logan did not have any obligations until late afternoon, and even then his training of the mini-X-Men would be interrupted by another damned meeting. At a loss for distractions, he went for a long run and it gave him time to consider recent events.

He could find not fault with Marie's performance on the mission although he wanted to, wanted to find some little mistake that he could exaggerate and use to bench her a bit longer. It was not only his possessiveness, or her youth, but that, as lethal as her mutation could be, she was still more vulnerable than any of the other X-Men; she had to be up close and personal to fight with her power and then when she did use it, she gained another voice to add to the growing schizophrenia in her head. He could not condone it and at the same time, he could not prevent her; she was his but she was not, not his daughter or his sister, just his friend, some girl he picked up despite his better judgment – or possibly because of – who had latched onto him for dear life and comfort and had yet to let go, and now he was sure he could not either. Yeah, she was growing up, ostensibly becoming more adept at taking care of herself, but was she? Or was her mutation becoming more of her weakness the older and more mature she became? He shuddered to think what memories she had of his or Magneto's, of murder and torture and…sex. He was not sure which was plaguing her more, phantom pain that was not hers, or – as she had said in one of her moments of brutal honesty – her hormones. She was after all a teenage girl. He knew well enough what the hormones of teenage boys were like and he hoped to God girls got a fraction of that. Only once – that he could recall – had she looked at him like a woman and not some doe-eyed, crushing schoolgirl. Her innocence was intact but it was rapidly deteriorating thanks to the growing cacophony of voices in her mind.

There again was a circular argument; he could dwell on it for hours and never get anywhere or come up with any solutions or bright lights, so he forced his mind from the topic and moved on. Scott had a way to go, but he was coming back, and Logan was glad for that. He had never liked playing nursemaid and if not for his savage devotion to Jean, he would have abandoned Scooter to his descent into madness right off. But he felt he owed Jean, that her act of self-sacrifice – which was for all of them, not just Scott, not just the children – had cast on him an obligation to ensure that it was not in vain, and if he allowed Scott to break irrevocably or to die because of his own self-pity and absorption, it was a failure and a betrayal. He would not fail Jean again, even if he was only failing her memory.

He thought no one else had taken it quite as hard as her husband and himself. Storm grieved, but she was strong. Unlike him, she did not bear the burden of guilt or uncertainty, the question of whether or not she could have prevented such a tragedy. She missed her best friend, but was gracious enough to accept Jean's decision. She could be too soft at times – most of the time – but it was this acceptance that told him Ororo could be a great leader, could make hard decisions when her back or someone else's was up against the wall. He had meant to check on her, to see how her leg was healing, and in all the upheaval, had simply forgotten.

Nell was responsible for that upheaval, though not of her own actions. She was thrown into the river already flooding, as he had been so many times, and she was fighting the current with a fury. She saved Marie's life – another point against Marie was that she had to be saved – and had eliminated that damned pyromaniac who had gone off to join the folks who left his former friends to drown at Alkali Lake. Logan did not begrudge Nell one inch for that action and had she not done it, he would have.

She was impressive. There was a quiet force about her, a magnetism, that intriguing hint of potency which she let hover around her instead of drawing attention to her own faculty. Logan had found over the years that those who did not try to show off how bad they were could always wipe the floor with the braggarts. That was only one of the qualities he admired of hers; her brevity and ruthless sarcasm were also high marks in her favor. What Marie told him about her coup over Pyro suggested an enticing wiliness as well, but he needed to be sure he had that story straight, and so as he came back within sight of the school, he resigned himself to the truth; it would pay to see what Nell knew.

After a shower, he sniffed her out in the library where she sat with her chin in her hand as she leaned forward, frowning at a computer screen. She looked up as soon as he came near and smiled at him. "Logan."

"How ya' doin'?"

She leaned back and dug her hands in her pockets, nodding at the monitor. Logan came around to see. "I've been catching up on some news. I didn't exactly have cable where I was living."

Her long, sun-bleached hair was braided down her back, but for a few wisps that framed her temples. He was tempted to reach out and tuck them behind her ears. Instead he flicked his eyes at the screen. "You got a minute?"

She laughed, her blue eyes bright and stirring. "I've got forever."

Logan grabbed a chair at random and sat, straddling it, his arms crossed over its back. He faced her fully. "Tell me what happened with Pyro."

Nell seemed surprised, but she did not hesitate. "I left my cabin a little after dawn, planning to visit Seattle. I was on Highway 19 when I noticed a car coming up behind me, an expensive red car of some sort, and then it sped up and a blast of fire hit my jeep. The idiot hit my gas tank. The jeep exploded." She smirked. "The explosion blew his car off the road. I landed in the ditch and woke up in a room full of boxes tied to a chair with rubber gloves on my hands." The expression on her face made it clear exactly what she thought of Pyro's little security measure.

The kid was an idiot. "What did he say?"

She shrugged. "Not much. He wanted me to join the Brotherhood. When I just cursed in him in German, he started talking louder and slower and finally gave up and said Magneto would be there soon and I could talk to him."

"Why you didn't try to escape then?"

"That little wretch blew up my jeep, kidnapped me, tied me to a metal folding chair, and put rubber dish gloves on my hands. He was about as much of a threat to me as a cold. I was waiting for Erik just so I could show him what kind of imbeciles he was trafficking with."

Again, he had to admire a woman like that, but that was not why he came here. "Scott and I – we think maybe he's trying to build up his forces."

Nell nodded. "For years, it was only him and Mystique. The two of them alone are pretty powerful."

They were pains in his ass; that was all. "We've eliminated some of his men."

"Yeah?" Her eyebrows went up and her lips curved. "Good for you. I'd love to take out that blue bitch."

Logan grinned. "Get in line."

"I'd break in line for that wench."

Her eyes were dark with menace. God, she was a pistol. "You really want to take out some of that aggression?"

She met his gaze and the corners of her mouth tweaked upward. "How?"

Damn, that felt like an invitation. He dipped his head forward and hers followed, like she was waiting to hear some terrible secret. "They call it the Danger Room."

Nell raised an eyebrow, but her smile held. There was a positively teasing curve to that mouth.

Logan shot to his feet, an outlet for the tension building in his muscles, and nodded at the door. "Come on. I'll give you a real welcome present."

Without comment, Nell stood and he led her down into the basement. She glanced around curiously, but she had seen all this yesterday when they arrived, and her face did not register real inquiry until they came to the door marked "Danger Room." He could not wipe the smirk off of his face now and she watched him with a curious smile as they walked into the metal-walled room.

"Wow," she said plainly. "A big, metal room."

Logan chuckled and left her in the middle of the room. At the control deck, he began pushing buttons. He knew the code for the Liberty Island simulation by heart now.

"Whose ass would love to kick more than anyone else's?" He asked.

"Mystique, the wretched harlot."

"Wish granted. Merry Christmas," he said and the room around them dissolved, changed into the museum lobby of Liberty Island, in commemoration of his first knock-down, drag-out encounter with the skin-changer. In the simulation, Mystique leaned against the reception desk and sneered at Nell.

For fifteen minutes, he watched Nell batter and bruise "Mystique". Nell was not inhibited by the jeans that clung so wonderfully to her lean thighs and tight butt. She pulled her sweater over her head and flung it in a random direction, revealing a thin-strapped, clingy tank top beneath it. Had he thanked the girls who donated clothes to this woman?

Logan pushed a button and the phantom Mystique morphed into Wolverine onto the rumble floor. "What do you think?" it asked Nell.

"Quite the toy," she said breathlessly.

"Mine are better." The claws came out.

For a few more minutes, Logan let Nell brawl, transfixed by the speed of her reactions, the fluidity and the flexibility of her movements. She was like wind on water, and she was grinning like a maniac, until suddenly she stopped, stood up straight and still, and dropped her arms to her sides. "Let's see how adamantium conducts electricity," she warned.

The lights on the control panel blinked and began to fade. The room – the illusion itself shivered. Logan killed the simulation before she drained the power from the whole building. For a moment the room went dark.

Nell cursed as Logan approached her. "Did I do that?"

"No, but you would have if I hadn't cut it." He stopped a few feet away. "You're glowing." The energy formed a faint blue aura surrounding her that was luminescent in a completely different way than Mystique's strange skin. The air itself was shimmering.

Nell looked down. "I can't tell."

"Your eyes are glowing too." He stepped forward slowly, looking her up and down, noticing a faint pulsing where the blue intensified ever so slightly and then dimmed again. He wondered if that were her heart beating. "Does this always happen?"

"I built up too much energy. If I let it go now, the power surge would knock out the school." She swore. "I forgot it wasn't real."

That was his fault. He let her go too long. "No love lost on Mystique, eh?"

"I had the impression she wasn't your best friend either. What'd she do to you?"

"She tricked me," he admitted.

"And you didn't notice her scent?"

"I was distracted." He did not have to explain himself to this stranger, even if they shared an enemy.

"She's talented like that. I wonder if that's how she lured away my Joshua or if he knew exactly who she was from the first time. I'm not sure she needed disguises to win him." She held up a hand, watched the currents web between her fingers. "Who did she use against you?"

Logan turned away, started for the door. He did not need this. What the hell was going on anyway? Why was everyone choosing him for awkward, prying conversations lately? Try to be nice to somebody and they automatically thought you should share your life history.

"Rogue?"

"You don't know anything about me," Logan called back.

"Jean?"

He stopped at the door. Why did she care? Did she not have her own problems to keep her busy? Or was it simply some damned gene that women got and men were immune to, some evolutionary mistake that made them have to talk about everything?

"Erik wanted Rogue. What did Mystique want?" she asked.

Logan was upon her in an instant, bearing down on her, just close enough that the occasional current reached him. He did not flinch. His eyes burned into hers. "What do you want?" he growled.

Nell leaned forward, her eyes wickedly gleaming and her mouth scant inches from his. He felt her breath on his skin when she whispered, "To fight someone worthy."

Her lips were perfect. "You sure about that?" The claws shot out. He raised an eyebrow. Did she have any idea what he was?

Nell reached out and touched a claw, running her finger down its length, watching the electricity spiral up the metal. It did not conduct well. Logan watched her face, took long, shallow breaths. She pricked her finger on the end of his claw and held her hand up to show him the blood. He retracted the claws immediately, but the sight of that drop of blood was not enough to distract him from her face, from her eyes and lips.

Nell stepped back. "I asked for a fight, Logan," she struggled to say.

"I don't want to fight you." He could read people better than some could read books. He had always had the advantage over other men in that he did not have to try to sort through women's mixed signals and flirtations; he could hear Nell's racing heart and her quick, shallow breaths, distinguish between the heat from her current and the rising heat coming off her body. He moved closer.

"Don't touch me," she hissed. The current around her danced more violently. "For god's sake, I'll electrocute you."

He grinned. "It wouldn't be the first time."

His large hands grasped her arms and pulled her to him. The blue cocoon enclosed him but the sting was brief and then there was only a tingling and a background hum. He searched those magnificent, incandescent eyes.

There was a darkness in hers. "I don't want you pretending I'm her," Nell said.

Logan let her go, recoiled, narrowed his eyes at the conduit. "You're not her," he muttered. What the hell kind of comment was that? He was tired of games, of Mystique's teasing, of Jean's absence, and here was this woman who was as hardass as he was, as crazy and headstrong; he knew exactly who he wanted. He shook his head. "I know the difference."

The blue was fading, degree by degree. Maybe she was easing it back into the power grid. She lowered her eyes. "I'm sorry. I just don't want to be anybody's stand-in. I've been somebody's toy too many times."

She was blushing and her hooded eyes seemed rooted to the floor. He would not have any qualms against teaching her ex-boyfriends some manners. "You're pretty young to be so jaded."

Nell laughed, but it was a dark laugh, and he did not like the shadows that formed in her eyes. She came back up to him, raised her hand quickly enough he wondered briefly if he was about to be slapped, but she only held it up in front of him, raising one finger. "Do you see any wound there?"

There was a small bit of dried blood where she had pricked her finger on his claw, but no trace of the source of that blood. Logan leaned back, tried to take in her whole form in one gaze.

She snorted. The disgust was thick in her voice. "Did you think a body could handle this much electricity and still breathe?"

He stared. Only once had he ever met another like him and he had sent her to the grave in a most brutal fashion, the grave he questioned would ever claim him. Deathstryke had been poisoned in the mind by Stryker, had been his enemy through brainwashing and nothing else. He had no chance to ask her what it was like for her, what she had survived, whom she had survived. He killed her to save himself and the others.

Nell was not trying to kill him although her eyes were as sharp as she glared at him as the tips of his claws. There was not a mark on her smooth, freckled skin from Pyro's trouble. All those holes and blackened scorches on her clothes and nothing on her; she did not have a single scar that he could see. How old was _she_?

"I thought you were smarter than that."

Logan could not think. His mind reeled with the questions he wanted to ask her, but between the fire in her gaze and his own bewilderment, he could not find the words he wanted.

Nell started to walk away, but he could not let her go. He seized her arm and held her. She watched him steadily, the disdain dying but still strong. He could not stop looking at her, scrutinizing her, staring into those eyes that might have seen a fraction or ten times what he had seen. What did you say to someone you had been searching for as long as you could remember?

But she had known. She had known for two days. She had known almost from the moment she saw him and she had held back. He realized now she thought he knew. This anger he understood; it was not so much at his obliviousness as from the condition itself. You lived long enough, outliving those around you, watching them die and not being able to do a damned thing about it, you got angry, it built up inside, and eventually it came out, often where it did not belong. He was all too familiar with that problem.

"I was worried about Rogue," he finally said. It was a concession. It was all he could say to communicate that he had not been himself since the moment they met. He could not tell her how much of his unrest Mystique was responsible for, but Marie he could admit. Nell had already seen his dedication to Marie.

Nell's arm relaxed. She swallowed and looked away. "I can't fault you for that. I know what it's like to care about someone that much. She's a sweetheart."

He let her arm go, stuffed his hands into his pockets, and sighed. "I need to think. All right?"

She nodded. Her face was clear again, soft with understanding. "I have more news to catch up on." She started away.

Logan caught her one last time and he knew he was not imagining the hesitation on her face. He squeezed her wrist gently. "Four o'clock. Xavier's office. It's about Magneto."

"I'll be there," she said. She tugged her wrist and he let her go, watching her walk away, his best chance now at understanding who and what he was. He had left Stryker to die. Marie might have some of his memories, but he would rather let those sleeping dogs lie and hopefully fade out eventually than have her searching through that mess to give him answers. Nell was no tortured girl cracking under the influence of his ragged past. She was a grown woman who had obviously been through her share of suffering – the anger proved that – and who knew, really _knew_, what it was like. He could ask her what he could not ask Marie, what he would not ask that little girl who was fighting enough of her own demons. With Nell, maybe he could finally face his demons, look at them straight on, claw their eyes out, and be done. With Nell, maybe he look past the demons.

* * *

**Thanks to those of you I've heard from, I've taken some advice to heart and I hope it shows, but I would love to hear more...**


	11. Chapter 11

**Sorry for the delay. Life -- and pesky jobs -- get in the way. But here you go. Please let me know if I've still got it.**

* * *

Eleven

Nell stood at the edge of the pond and watched the ripples glide across the surface, the reflected illusion that hid the world beneath. The trees shimmered in that rippling mirror and she looked up, following the shoreline to the forest's edge. If she walked deep enough into those woods, could she go home again? Could she find her daughter and lie down in a shallow grave beside her and rest? Her body was scarcely ever tired but her somewhere deep inside she was weary. She had fought her share of battles and lived through more than her share of pain, yet here she was, still trying to see past the illusion and know the world for what it truly was…or herself.

Four hundred years gave you time to think, to theorize, and to learn, but they did not guarantee that you would learn what you wanted to know. More than anything, time simply created new questions to be answered. She had thought once – only once – in four hundred years that the end was near, her own at least, and what had she done? She had fought it, not out of fear, not out of uncertainty, but out of desperation and determination; she would not let that savage kill her because God only knew what he could do to the world. She had the chance then to give up and let herself go, to lose the fight she was inches from losing, and take the road home. But she didn't. And she was not questioning that decision now – she never would, she had done what was right and good – but she was wondering if the circumstance would ever arise again, or if it would arise when she could go without guilt or regret. She had always been a woman of faith, and not simply faith in some higher power, but in man, in human beings, and their better natures. Certainly, she had seen enough in her years to verify that people were not only capable of vile and creative methods of evil, but they were equally capable of blaming everyone else for their sins. Yet she had also seen strength, and undying loyalty, sacrifice and unconditional love. She had seen the best of humanity in those who were brave enough to fight the worst of it.

And so she wondered, where did she belong? Is that why she was here? Was she honestly supposed to be one of the heroes? Usually, the heroes died. Yes, everyone – almost everyone – dies, but heroes tended to die younger in a last blaze of courage and resistance, protecting the weak and, more often than not, those who would never know or be grateful for their sacrifices. Heroes were able to rest. The old epics and poems foretold of a time when the heroes would be sleeping and no one would come to save the world from hardship and suffering, from the final winter of apocalypse. A blizzard would swallow the earth and the rest of the world would sleep as well. When she was young and she first heard these ideas, they scared her, but now she understood – more than the poets and the prophets she believed – that it had to be; the heroes – those men and women who saved mankind from the brink scores of times – deserved some final peace as did the world itself, and if the heroes awoke then, they would not allow the end to come. Heroes held back the end. They had for eons and eons and they would until there were no more and then the earth herself could rest.

There again she wondered if the poets and prophets truly understood the duality of the word; to _rest_, to _sleep_ did not denote finality, but pause. One day the heroes would awaken and take back the world, but, in the meantime, they deserved some peace. And what of her? What peace would she ever find? People like her, people like Logan, did they ever get to lay their arms down and sleep? Would there be others to take up their fight, succeed them and go on? Or were they doomed to bear the torch until it burned down to splinters, until it burned them up, and still they healed and fought on and ignited a new torch?

She would have liked to find solace in that idea, to be proud or even secure in the knowledge that they were at least two heroes who would never falter, never break, never wear out, who would be there to hold back the cold forever, but she couldn't. When Logan looked at her back in the Danger Room, when the moment came that his eyes cleared and he finally saw her, she felt a bitter loneliness and a familiar burden; he looked at her like she was the answer, the way to the light. She was not so confident that she could be his savior and less so that he could be hers.

The wind rose and the surface of the water danced with a frenzy, but although the illusion trembled, the depths were still hidden. When would come the day when she could break the illusion and see the whole beneath?

She shivered as the wind held and grew stronger and watched the skies darken as clouds twisted into a dark mass. This was no natural storm on the rise. She felt the electricity charging the air and she could trace it back to its source; the weathermaker was troubled.

Nell left the pond and ran back to the mansion, narrowly avoiding the driving hail that heaved itself from an angry sky. There was Storm on the balcony, protected from the stone-size hail by a cocoon. The storm came on like a river changing its course, rushing to the mansion on the heels of Nell who Storm did not seem to notice.

Under the balcony, Nell braced herself against the wall, only a few inches safe from the hail that pelted the grass, and her temper flared unexpectedly. A thunderstorm was one thing, but how dare this woman endanger the children who might have been trapped in the open, who might be out there in this hell? The hail was the softball-sized now and growing. If the woman wasn't careful, she could damage the mansion itself. Grief was understandable, but where in God's name did she think she had the right to –

Lightning shot from the sky with a branched fury and grounded in the pond, sparks and dancing electricity floating on the surface like a live wire. Nell took a deep breath and tried to calm herself. The hail ceased. The clouds broke and slowly began to disperse. Nell's boots crunched the ice as she emerged from her refuge to gaze up at the balcony.

Storm was visibly trembling, her chest heaving, where she leaned against the banister and stared down at Nell. There was fear in her eyes. She shook her head. "I'm sorry," she whispered, but Nell heard her.

Nell stared at the sorrowful and shaken woman. Perhaps it was her years, but she could not recall her own grief ever having been so powerful or so consuming, and she wondered if her immortality blunted her emotions, dulled them to make her eternal life easier, or if they had simply dulled from time. Even in her anger, she envied the woman that she could feel so much, feel anything so strongly as the tempest proved she did. But she would not tell the woman that because what Storm needed at this moment was obviously not doubt.

"People like us," Nell said, "people with real power have to be careful. Others depend on us."

Storm stifled a sob and nodded. They regarded each other for a long moment before Storm turned and disappeared into the mansion, and Nell found herself alone again, staring at the open sky and the light shimmering on the surface of the water. It was a beautiful light. She thought she could bathe in that light forever.

* * *

Rogue was leaving history class when Scott stopped her by tapping her shoulder. The gesture caught her off-guard and when she looked at him, she realized he was surprised by himself. Very few people ever touched Rogue, even where her mutant skin was covered by a protective layer of clothing.

Scott gave himself a little shake. "We've got a meeting today." He glanced at the clock on the wall. "An hour from now, in the Professor's office. It's about Magneto?"

_Well, well, aren't I the man of the hour._

"Did something else happen?" Rogue heard worry in her voice.

"We're trying to prevent anything new. That's what the meeting is about."

Rogue hesitated. She could smell cigarette smoke. He changed clothes, but he must not have had the time for a shower before classes today. She smirked. What an odd couple he and Logan made.

"Rogue?"

"Hmm? Nothing." She smiled. "Thanks for letting me know. I'll be there."

"Good. I forgot to tell Bobby. Would you tell him?"

_Dear God, they really do intend to let that schoolboy go to war, don't they? How delightful._

"Sure. I can do that." She wasn't honestly sure she would see Bobby before four o'clock, not unless she went seeking him and she was not in the mood to deal with his excessive tenderness and sympathy. A girl could only handle so much pity.

She left Scott in his classroom and took the long way back to her room, letting her mind wander as she tried to organize the clutter of her thoughts. She had spent the better part of both her English and history classes listening to and allowing her unconscious to absorb the lessons of Erik Lencher, focusing this time on simply feeling the resonant signature of different metals, the particular hums and vibrations of steel versus aluminum. And the upcoming meeting was the perfect opportunity to familiarize herself with the unique sensation of adamantium.

_That's my girl, zealous and insightful. You are becoming quite the student._

Rogue smiled and for a brief second, she questioned whether this was the voice she should be listening to, but it was a passing doubt. Erik had been guiding her steadily now for some time and he had not led her into danger or destruction. He was not showing her the path to evil or hatred, he was only showing her the way to control her curse, to transform it into a gift; he was saving her.

She had doubts, she wasn't stupid after all. She knew she should not automatically trust Erik Lencher simply because he was bound in her psyche, but she also knew that it was not simply self-preservation that led him to save her now where he had tried to ruin her before; he was a part of her now, they were connected, and in that connection, he had forged a new loyalty. Even if that allegiance had been sparked by self-preservation, it was strong and it was the driving force behind his tutorship. Rogue embraced it as much because she had come to trust this ghost of the true villain as because no one else was stepping up to lead her through the brambles and briars of her consciousness. She had expected the Wolverine to be her leader, had never suspected he would let anyone else – let alone Erik – be her guide, but he had and he had not reneged on that position since the beginning. Only occasionally did she hear a soft growl in the corner of her mind that seemed to emanate disgust and shame; he was appalled of _her_, and if the Wolverine disdained her choice of a teacher then he would do well to remember he didn't leave her much choice.

In the time since she had first begun honing in on one voice amidst the cacophony in her head, she had learned quite a bit, and the voices had learned as well. Bobby kept sensibly quiet most of the time, David had nearly disappeared altogether, and the Wolverine – well, he made no effort to hide the fact that he had dug his metaphorical boots in and was not going anywhere, however, scornful or contemptuous he might be about her current attitude and education. She wondered if his regular but infrequent disdainful growls were partly designed to remind her of his determined presence. And when Erik was not in the forefront of her mind, that thought assured and contented her. She knew the Wolverine would never abandon her; he was not a deserter.

When she rounded the corner of her bedroom's hall, she was more than a little surprised to see Bobby Drake leaning against the doorframe like he was holding up the wall. She had not spoken more than a few passing words to him in a couple of days and the wounded pride was spread across his face like a neon sign. She steeled herself for this encounter and heard Erik warn her.

_Now, now, my dear, don't burn all your bridges so early. Besides, we needn't have him broadcasting to all of the X-Men that you don't seem yourself, that you've _changed.

Rogue nodded and Bobby assumed it was a curt hello. He opened his mouth.

"Hi, Bobby. It's good to see you."

The boy froze with his hand in mid-air. He studied her suspiciously.

Rogue walked right up to him and gave him a light hug which he returned lately but with fervor. When they parted, he still looked at her uncertainly.

"What's going on, Rogue?" He paused for a long time before the next question came out hesitantly. "Have you been avoiding me?"

"Oh God, Bobby, no. Don't think that. I just…I just needed some time to think and deal, after the mission and all this…I was showing Surge around and I've been thinking, you know. A lot's happened to us."

Bobby nodded and his expression softened. "That's why we need to be together. You can talk to me about what's bothering me. We can deal with it together."

His eyes were so entreating. He wanted so badly to be her white knight. After a pause, he asked, "Have you talked to Logan?"

Rogue shook her head. "I haven't talked to anyone, Bobby. I've just been thinking to myself, letting everyone else do the same…Besides, I didn't want to bring up – I know you were close to him."

Bobby's eyes widened briefly and then he sighed a little. "You mean John. Storm told me. She gave me the details. Rogue, he tried to kill you, to kill both of you. Yeah, he was my friend once, but my friends aren't killers, they're the good guys."

I'm a killer, she thought. That's my secret weapon. That's the sure path to winning a fight when the chips are down and the stakes are high.

_Don't be so melodramatic. _

It's true and you know it, she thought.

_Perhaps, but it is also a sure path to losing your mind. Exactly how many voices do you presume you can listen to and still recognize your own? Be sensible, child. I am teaching you to fight with just as lethal measures but without risking your sanity._

"Rogue?"

"I'm sorry, Bobby. I'm just not ready to talk about it yet."

Not everything she said was a lie; that last part was true. Whenever she thought long on St. John, she felt the doubt threatening to overpower her. He had been good once and, if she was right, it had not taken much at all for him to defect to the enemy. He wasn't seduced or persuaded, he was called and he answered. Was it that easy? Could she be lost so easy, especially with Erik's voice in her head? There was that soft growl again, coming from the shadowy depths of her subconscious.

"All right." Bobby nodded. He took her gloved hand and squeezed her fingers lightly.

Good old Bobby, he was always dependable and understanding, even when he it meant his own feelings were put on the backburner. She had to admire that. She felt a tightness in her throat when he gazed back at her with his fierce blue eyes, so trusting and loyal.

"Whenever you're ready to talk, I'm here," he said.

She smiled. "Thank you, Bobby."

He let her go and started down the hall before she remembered and called out to him. "Hey, Bobby!"

He turned.

"We're meeting in the Professor Xavier's office at four. Scott – Professor Summers forgot to tell you."

Bobby waved and left.

Rogue felt Erik rolling his eyes. Shut up, she thought.

* * *

Nell looked at her watch and frowned: 3:36. She was supposed to be back at the mansion, in Xavier's office in less than half an hour and while she could not get lost in the middle of nowhere, she was slightly less convinced of her ability to find her way back to the mansion. At least she knew where she had parked Storm's car. She had parallel-parked the sedan between a Hummer and a Mini Cooper and had walked away thinking, Daddy Car, Momma Car, Baby Car, and then mentally smacked herself for being so silly.

But she was feeling better now, that was the point of getting out for a little while as Storm had urged. After her Danger Room session with Logan and the hailstorm that soon followed, Nell had gone back into the school looking for somewhere she could hide out and be alone for awhile, but the place was full of kids and they seemed to know all of the best nooks to steal for studying or kissing, and she was ready to try the roof when she ran into Storm near the library.

"I'm sorry about earlier," Storm had said. "I let it go too far."

"I'm no stranger to that," Nell conceded, remembering the simulation. "If Logan hadn't stopped me earlier, I might have taken out power for the entire street."

Storm raised an eyebrow.

"He was showing me the Danger Room." There was that unrest again. Nell rubbed her temples.

"You know we're meeting at four to discuss Magneto?"

Nell nodded, pleased for the distraction.

"Why don't you take a break? You could go into the city and shop." Storm's voice rose on the last word and she smiled.

Nell could use the chance to settle her affairs, get to a bank branch, find some clothes that weren't meant for teenagers, buy some books and coffee and other little bits to give her some semblance of home.

Storm must have recognized the spark in her eyes. "You've got plenty of time. Take my car and go out for a while. The mansion isn't going anywhere."

Nell thought it was partly a peace offering after nearly hammering her with hail earlier, but Storm was a peacemaker anyhow, friendly and open. So it came to pass that Nell was strolling back up Market Street, her eyes scanning the passing faces and shop windows and cars, and marveling at how easy and accustomed these people were to living in such a beehive.

Some people claimed there wasn't a place left on earth where you could escape the modern world, not with satellites and cell phones and airplanes, but Nell knew better. All you had to do was want it badly enough. Homestead, North Dakota, was living proof that if towns sat idle long enough, the future slowed down. There was one gas station in Homestead and Dell still pumped gas for ladies. There was one restaurant, a diner called Maggie's, and it had one old RCA television behind that counter that got – in good weather and the right wind – four stations in Technicolor. When Nell felt like socializing, she went to Maggie's, ordered coffee and a cheeseburger, and watched the six o'clock news with Gordon Price, who ran the hardware/feed/gun store and – when she wasn't waiting on someone – Maggie, and occasionally – if she was passing though – Arlene Townsend, the traveling veterinarian who made at home calls to three counties. If the weather held through dinner, they sometimes got to watch the _Carol Burnett Show_, and years later, _M*A*S*H._

In short, Nell's awareness of society's changes over the last thirty years was sketchy. She had not missed the major milestones; war and other nasty business never failed to make headlines. She had heard about the strange events of the Liberty Island summit over the Jeep's radio which still got better reception than the RCA, but her patience was tested as she read more and more of "the mutant problem." People were ruddy idiots. Would they ever cease to be afraid of those that were different from themselves?

She had spent thirty years in Homestead, hiding out or, biding her time if she wanted to sound less like a heartbroken fool, and the years had eased that pain, the years and the woods. If she was honest with herself, she had probably been ready to face the world again more than twenty years ago, but she was happy in that little hole-in-the-woods town; it made her feel like she was home again. In stark contrast, the city was an alien entity of noises and lights and ants, but she hadn't survived four centuries without learning to adapt.

Since she left the mansion and come into the city, she had found a small coffee shop that, in addition to brewing delicious coffee, also made this turkey and swiss brioche that reminded her of bygone years; she had found a clothing store that, while being overpriced, sold the rugged, outdoorsy clothes she preferred; she had stocked up on paperbacks from a quaint nook and cranny used bookstore, including several adventure novels that she had not ever read because they weren't published yet the last time she bought new books; and she had eaten a late, but filling lunch at some Italian bistro.

Now she was returning to the car for the last time, having left an international foods store with full bags. She had real soap now, not that liquid goo the girls seemed to love, but scrubby oatmeal bar soap. She had bangers and mash – the years she spent in Ireland taught her the love of Irish foods. She had good English tea and Turkish coffee and German chocolate. And she was carefree and content; she had managed to keep her mind off of her encounter with Logan and all that it entailed for hours now, busy with reestablishing her identity at the bank and navigating the generic maze of the city.

And she was going to be late. And she was not entirely sure that she had parked the car on Market Street. She thought she had parked in front of a hair salon, but she was paying more attention to Daddy Car, Momma Car, and Baby Car than to the actual location, and that was three hours ago, before she dropped a ridiculous amount of coinage into the city's version of highway robbery, the meter.

Nell stopped on the sidewalk in front of a store that sold only newspapers and magazines – how useless was that? – and surveyed the parked cars she could see from her standpoint. She did not see the shiny, dark blue sedan that she had left not so long ago when she dropped off her new clothes. She turned abruptly to scan the other direction and sidestepped just in time to avoid colliding with the man who came careening out of the magazine vendor.

He caught hold of the parking sign to steady himself and turned.

Nell looked from him to the door he had just flown from. He had come out of there like a bullet. Was she that distracted or was her perception accurate? Normal people couldn't cover that ground that fast, they couldn't get up to that speed without a good start.

The man was watching her. His short black hair was spiky and disheveled. He was young, maybe twenty-five, and the light shadow on his jaw gave his grin a rakish appeal. "I'm sorry. I almost flattened you." He held out a tan hand. "My name's Andrew. Most people just call me Drew."

Nell shuffled her paper bags to free her right hand and shook Drew's. "Nell."

"You look lost, Nell."

"No, just my—" She broke off as the handle on one of her bags snapped and the bag ripped, spilling out a bar of soap and a box of chocolate.

Drew's hands flashed too fast for her to see, catching the items inches from the ground. He straightened, holding the goods, and met her eyes with a hint of fear.

Nell titled her head and eyed him. She felt a smile creeping across her face. "Is that all you can do?"

Drew grinned. "Not easily impressed, are you?"

"I know a few mutants."

"Well then, if we're going to be open about it. My real friends call me Rush."


	12. Chapter 12

Twelve

Logan stubbed out his cigar and cast another glance at Scott's bike, but it was a useless gesture; he was the most vulnerable when it came to Magneto. He was the last person that needed to go haring off on the attack. But he would have loved to make a shish kabob of that old son-of-a-bitch. Scott was right – God, he wouldn't say that out loud – about Magneto planning something; Logan could smell it, sense that change in the wind. Everything was quiet, too quiet compared to the hell they had all – no, not all – survived recently. More than likely, that meant Magneto was lying low, recuperating his losses, and plotting some new nastiness.

And the Wolverine was damned tired of it. It was time to eliminate the threat. It didn't help that not only could he not be the man to do it, but he had to watch the rest of them mourn the wolf they had sheltered in sheep's clothing. Logan was not a vicious murderer – he did not kill men who did not deserve it and he did not relish the kill – but he slightly begrudged Nell that she had taken down the little Matchstick Boy. Under ordinary circumstances, Logan never would have taken a killing blow on the fiery upstart, but when the brat was out for blood, Marie's blood, there was no second chance, no hesitation, no surrender. He would have ripped the boy in two at the right moment to protect Marie, but Nell had beat him to it.

Maybe it was better that way. He could not recall that he had ever killed a child, but he wasn't so sure he would classify Pyro as a child considering his crimes. Nevertheless, what was done was done and there was no going back, not for him to slice up the snot nor for Storm to try one of her naïve interventions, and he was not sorry. Pyro had made his choice and, a few days ago, he had made himself quite the lesson for the younger students to learn from.

He glanced at his watch and saw he still had a few minutes to spare. He was not going up to that meeting any earlier than he had to, not to watch Bobby stare at Marie, nor to watch Marie slip further and further from the girl he once saved, nor to watch Storm and Kurt make moon eyes at each other. Except that Storm's car was gone and had been gone since he came down to the garage to hide out and smoke where Xavier wouldn't whine or threaten. She must know about the meeting so why would she cut it so close to time; the Storm Queen was always punctual and proper.

Logan shrugged. She would be there. They would all be there, even the children, and yes, they were still children. He didn't care what was going on with Marie, what changes or urges or thoughts were brewing beneath the surface but she was still a little girl, his little girl, and she had her frosty sidekick of a boyfriend to prove it; they were so nauseating together. At least Colossus was nearly done with the puberty gig and he didn't let it run his world or he was very good at hiding it.

Back on the main floor, Logan turned the corner to find Storm coming out of the library. She smiled at him. "Hi, Logan."

He stopped, narrowed his eyes at the ebony beauty. "Who stole your car?"

"I loaned it to Nell for the afternoon. You're the only car thief around here, Logan," she said with a chuckle.

"It's not a loan if she never comes back."

"Logan—"

"It's nearly four. She knew about the meeting. She should be here."

Storm straightened her shoulders. "Logan, calm down. She's a grown woman and if she was going to leave, she could have done so long before now. She's probably just lost track of time or lost her direction." She put a gentle hand on his arm. "She'll be back."

That was a nice thought, but the last time a friend of his – was she that already? – had left the mansion, she was intercepted by an enemy he couldn't fight, the enemy they were about to discuss, the enemy who had recently tried to kidnap the woman in question.

Storm was reading his face and her own darkened visibly. "Not a chance, Logan. There is no way he—"

"Really? No chance?" He shook his head in disgust and strode down the hall at a swift pace. Storm hurried after him but had to run to catch up with him at Xavier's office where Logan stormed in and surveyed the ranks. Nell was not in the office and, for that matter, neither was Marie. Kurt was eyeing him cautiously, Bobby had wedged himself as far into the corner of the couch as he could, Scott was in the middle of crossing his arms, and Xavier stared at him like a raging elephant. Storm slid in behind him and bounced off of his back.

Logan bellowed. "Where the hell is Rogue? Did she go too?"

Xavier cleared his throat. "What is this all about? Calm yourself."

"Where is Rogue?" The growl had a resonant timbre that lingered in the air. If she had left, if he had driven her away…Too many people became vulnerable because of him. Magneto used too many people against him and he was damned sick and tired of it.

No one answered his question. Bobby shifted uncomfortably under Logan's glare and Scott stepped forward with his usual take-charge pompousness. Logan rounded on him. "Nell's gone. Where's Rogue?"

Scott stopped in mid-step. He tilted his head. "Nell's gone?"

Storm sighed. "For god's sake, people, she went shopping. She'll be back."

"Where's Rogue?"

"I'm right here. Jeez, Logan, who wound you up?" Marie sauntered into the room with a cat-like grace, her look taking in each of the X-Men there.

Logan watched her gaze shift over the open seats, arcing over Bobby like he wasn't even there, before she took a seat on the window ledge next to Kurt. She caught Logan's eyes with a questioning smile. He raised an eyebrow at her and cut his eyes at Bobby but she looked down at her knees, picking at an imaginary piece of lint, and Logan turned back to Scott.

"She's vulnerable," Logan said.

Scott scratched his jaw and stared back at him. "Actually, Logan, she's probably safer than you are. She can strike from a distance and she isn't one giant metal puppet for Magneto to play with."

Logan started to respond, but Marie beat him to it.

"And she's like you," she said. She looked up at him. "She heals."

She had known. Marie had known and kept that secret from him. She wilted under his incredulous gaze and went back to lint-picking.

Xavier took a deep breath and sat his hands on his desk. "I think we can safely assume that Surge can handle herself. What makes you suspect she is in danger right now?"

"Experience." Logan put a hand on his hip and ran his tongue along his sharper teeth, working harder than he usually did to quell his aggravation at how naïve and optimistic these people were. The bad guys did not wait until you were ready to launch the fight. They did not send a warning announcement before the Greek fire came flying over the wall. Magneto had tricked Marie to drive her from the safety of the mansion. If Nell left of her own free will, then he was one step ahead. "You think Magneto doesn't know who took his prize?"

Scott sighed. "This is what we're here to talk about. Logan's right on some level, but I don't agree that the threat is immediate. I don't believe Magneto would be here so soon when he could wait and lull us into a sense of safety."

That made sense, but it didn't mean One-Eye was right.

"He doesn't have to be here," Bobby offered nervously. "Before, he sent Mystique."

Storm threw up her hands. "Are any of you listening to a word I'm saying? Nell left, but she is coming—"

"Stop," Xavier said quietly, and they all fell silent. "I'm sorry, Storm, but that is not the question any longer. It may or may not be an issue, but it is related to why we are all here. Scott and Logan have proposed locking down the school until we know more about what Erik is plotting, whether or not he is in fact recruiting to the Brotherhood. This panic is a testimony to the problem. I believe the lockdown is the best course of action for the time being. I will continue to use Cerebro to gain as much insight as I can, and any excursions from the mansion will be approved by me beforehand and made in teams of no less than two." He frowned and looked among them. "Bobby is right. Mystique has fooled us before."

"He won't send her to us," Logan declared.

"Oh? Why not?" Storm asked.

"Because I know her. She can't hide from me. And she can't hide from Nell." And because this time he would kill the blue bitch; the games were over.

Scott nodded. "We don't know who his remaining allies are, but I think we should assume that he has others, possibly others he has deliberately hidden from us to protect them."

"So that's it? We lock down the school and wait like sitting ducks?"

"No, Logan," Storm began. "That's not—"

"What do you want, Logan?" Scott interrupted. "You can't fight Magneto."

"And none of you who can are man enough to end this bullshit."

"Enough!" Xavier shouted. All eyes turned on him and he frowned with freezing disapproval upon his team. "We have finished here. I will make the announcement myself. You are all dismissed. I will summon you again when I have news."

Logan caught the wounded professor's eyes. He didn't care if the two old men had once been the best of friends; Magneto was an evil bastard with no qualms about killing innocents, especially Marie. He was an old fool who thought he could remake the world in his image, like he was some god, but at best, he was Lucifer.

Logan left the professor brooding at his desk and swept out of the room on the trail of the others, only to find Scott waiting for him. Cyclops stepped directly in his way as he came out of the office and was probably staring him down but the visor tended to weaken his glares.

"What?" Logan barked.

"If you have reason to suspect Nell's in danger, fess up. If this is just you being your usual half-cocked self, then deal with it."

Logan put his hands to his waist. "It's a gut feeling."

Scott cocked his head and crossed his arms. There was a ghost of a smirk on his face, but it vanished before Logan could verify it. Scott said plainly, "She could have killed Pyro at any moment. He got the jump on her, but he couldn't have killed her, and you know it. Tell me you really believe she's in danger."

They stared each other down for a while. He was not going to admit One-Eye was right, that Nell was perfectly capable of handling herself. Wasn't their session this morning a suitable testament to her independence? And it – he was probably the reason she had left, the heated words between them, the confusion. He had nearly lost Marie because she left, because of the night she used his strength to live, and he did lose Jean. When Logan left, it was because he couldn't stand himself half the time, but women left for the better of those they left behind, in true or misguided efforts to preserve those they abandoned. He could see that in Nell, just as in Marie and later in Jean, the potential for that sacrifice, and if she came to harm because anything that had come to pass between him and her had led her to believe they would all be better off or safer without her, then that was one more failure on his watch. She was new, she had scarcely appeared in his world, but just as with Marie and Jean, he didn't need long to forge alliances he would never forsake.

Cyclops was still waiting, but his posture has eased up and he seemed to be studying Logan. Logan threw his shoulders back and growled in exasperation. He jabbed Scott in the chest with his index finger. "If she's not back by six, you and I are going after her," he purred, and took off at a quick stride down the corridor.

There were things that remained to be said to Scott, truths that had yet to be revealed, but would come out sooner or later. Logan was not some melodramatic fool; if Nell was fine, then those truths could wait, but if Magneto – when Magneto came for her again, or for any of them, then it was time for Scott – and the Professor for that matter – to face some hard truths. Magneto had nearly killed Marie, would have left her to die had they not arrived too late for anyone but Logan himself to drag her back from the edge of death, and Magneto would have killed all those anonymous faces he sought to mutate when their cellular make-up couldn't handle the transition and literally disintegrated, and as much as Logan himself was to blame for the time they lost at Alkali Lake, he was not the one who took their only means of reliable transportation and left them all to die. Magneto was a killer. He was a man who did not balk at the dirty tasks that stood between him and his goals, unlike the motley lot of X-Men and their naïve leader. Logan wasn't even sure they had it in them to do what had to be done, but for Nell who had already proven herself, and she was out there somewhere, possibly in the enemy's hands.

And there was Marie. He believed she was capable of drastic measures, but he had failed her before and he would not let that happen again. Someone had to stand between her and the darkness, and since he could do nothing for the chaos inside her mind, he would protect her from the chaos without.

In the end, he was banking a tremendous deal on Scott. Logan did not presume the Professor would ever be able to kill his old friend, but if One-Eye could open that eye and see Magneto for the wretch that he was, as a beast willing to murder innocents and perfectly at ease leaving all of them to die, then maybe there was some hope for the X-Man. Then maybe Logan would not have to stand alone, but he would do what had to be done.

The time had come to take off the kid gloves and put the monster down.

* * *

**So, are things getting interesting?**


	13. Chapter 13

**Thirteen**

Drew reached out and took the damaged bag from Nell, hoisting it up and holding it in front of himself snugly. "So, where's your car?"

Nell smiled. "That's what's lost."

"Well, what does it look like?" He offered amiably.

"It's black and it's shiny. It looks fairly new." She scanned up and down the street again. "You don't have to help me. I'm not even sure I parked on this street."

Drew raised an eyebrow playfully and taunted, "Why is it I always get involved with car thieves and bank robbers?"

Was he flirting with her? He was _flirting_ with her. Two in one day? First Logan and – meeting! Four o'clock!

"Listen, I don't mean to sound inconsiderate, you're being very nice and all, but I'm supposed to be at this thing at four and I'm afraid I'm going to be late if I don't get—"

"Parole meeting, right? I knew it. Can you remember the license plate of the vehicle you stole?"

Nell couldn't help herself, she laughed, and clapped her free hand over her mouth. Drew grinned broadly and there was an attractive intensity to his eyes when he looked at her. She looked away to stave off her blush and when her eyes caught the license plate of the truck next to her, she realized she did know Storm's tag numbers. She told Drew who sat her other bag carefully against the signpost, winked, and was gone. Before she had time to lift the bag and shuffle it in her arms, he was back and just slightly winded.

"Two blocks down," he said. "I don't think the police are on to it yet."

"Thank you. That's a handy talent you have, Drew."

He bent down and picked up her bag. "I showed you mine…"

"You don't have to carry that. I'll be fine. You were in a hurry before."

He shook his head. "No, just making the best of my time. It's a short walk. And I could use the time to figure out how to ask you for your phone number."

Nell laughed, but this was too casual, too offhand. It felt too juvenile and fresh and foreign; it was blunt and yet deceptive in that it seemed to be asking for one thing and really it asked for another. As tense as Logan and she had been before, there had been a clarity to that friction; the interlude itself was subtle because the feelings were not. This flirtation now was so cavalier and light; how did folks ever behave so carelessly about what was honestly so important to them? Romeo may have died before he needed to shave, but at least he knew that if you really were attracted to someone, you didn't waste your time with silly and inconsequential banter, you went right for the heart, or the kiss.

"Nell?"

"I'm sorry. I got…distracted." She probably looked lost again, but it was hard to feel otherwise. This is what she got for hiding out for years and years and what she deserved, she supposed, suddenly thrust into the twenty-first century and all of its fast-paced chaos. If her life were one of the great novels, Drew would be a metaphor for her inability to deal with such a world. Dickens could have done that. Hell, poor Mary Shelley could have done it if she hadn't lived in the shadow of those rogues and been able to write more than one brilliant novel.

Ugh, she was doing it again, and being ridiculous to boot. She forced the cobwebs out of her mind; she would not be undone by a metaphor. "Which way is the car?"

Drew pointed and then began to lead the way at a steady, but normal human pace Nell could easily match. He was tall, but not so looming as Logan, who towered over her rather like a transformer. Logan could never be a metaphor, he could never stand being anything so subtle or subdued. He could be an archetype, she mused, or perhaps some powerful word.

Drew was talking to her. She caught only the end of the sentence. "…new to this town."

"Me? Yeah, yeah, I am." Dear God, she sounded like a sputtering idiot today, distracted and stuttering in such a way that she couldn't be surprised if Drew mistook it for nervousness, but she couldn't concentrate and now there was the ghost of a scent floating in the air around him and she couldn't home in on it.

"So, you'll probably tell me you don't have your new number memorized yet."

They passed a barbershop with one of the old striped poles. Nell smiled. "Actually, I'll tell you that I don't even have a telephone number." How much information did she want to give to this too-charming stranger? Did she have to suspect _everyone_? There were thousands and thousands of mutants out there and they didn't all work for or even know who the hell Erik Lencher was. But what was that scent and why was it scratching at her mind like this?

She sighed. "It's been a rough week actually. I'm staying with some friends while I get myself sorted out."

Drew frowned. "Bad break-up?"

"My truck blew up," Nell said matter-of-factly. "I was moving and it had most of my belongings in it and now…"

"I'm so sorry." He seemed to have calmed down. "Is there anything I can do?" His eyes searched hers and she felt her face heating up again. "Someone's already loaned you a car, I could buy you dinner, take you to a movie, keep your mind off of your troubles…"

She wanted to be intrigued, to be impressed and flattered, but this happy-go-lucky exchange was so false, so contrived and designed to bring about an end that would have none of this current wit; it made all the flirtation seem like a lie, a wicked lie orchestrated to fool some new woman into bed until he tired of her and started the whole game anew with a different gal. She knew men and yeah, maybe she was jaded, but that last one she'd let in had not left a hallmark on her heart, he'd left a vicious scar. Logan may have lacked subtlety, he may have been one large and fierce vehicle of hormones, but he went straight for the jugular, didn't waste time pretending that he was driven by anything but that vehicle. And there were few things Nell admired more than honesty.

But she was a child of a different age – of several different ages in fact – and none so alien as the modern world. She grew up in a time when people didn't waste time, when plagues and wars and famines reminded one on a daily basis that time was of the essence, and it did not matter that she had shortly learned of her immunity to all of that pain and natural order; we are so shaped by the world we are born into. Since the turn of the century, she had watched the world changing, slowly at times, in great leaping and terrifying bounds at others, and she, a woman who had read _Frankenstein_ in the first edition because she was around then to buy it, had questioned who these children would become who were raised on vaccines and combustion engines and – electricity. Now one of those children, or children's children, was flirting with her and he was so different from her in everything, in values, in ideals, in character, he might as well have been one of H. G. Well's Martians, but for his genuine friendliness.

"You're awful thoughtful," Drew remarked. He nudged her with his elbow and the scent was stronger now, just potent enough to jar her memory and bring itself home; it was the scent of working hands, of steel and sweat on skin.

Nell glanced at Drew's hands. She could not see any calluses, but she was at a disadvantage for studying them closely. "What do you do?" she asked.

Drew's brows twitched briefly and he smiled. "Uh, I'm a student actually. I work part-time at the university library, but I'm working on my doctorate in American literature."

Nell stifled a disappointed remark; there were plenty of exceptional American authors. Besides, that wasn't the point; the point was that a student librarian wasn't likely to smell like a steel mill worker.

"What about you?" Drew countered.

Might as well be honest, she thought. "I'm in between jobs."

"So, you are a mutant, aren't you?"

She forced a smile. "It's a curse of mine."

He watched her expectantly. Nell hesitated. She glanced around. "I don't really like to make a scene. I haven't found the world is ready yet for us."

Drew's entire bearing transformed, his face lit up, and his eyes bore into hers with a startling certainty. "I know exactly what you mean. Do you ever feel like you live in Salem?"

"No." But she had been accused of being a witch more than once.

He shrugged. "We're different, though, can't deny that. Some of my friends say we're better than them, but I don't know. I just know we're different." His tone betrayed otherwise.

He was so very young, that age of rash decision and foolhardiness, impressionable, malleable; villains took advantage of children like that. Had one already taken advantage of him? There was that peculiar scent about him. There was only one way to discover that. He couldn't hurt her and she was not of the mind to sit around and wait for the coup.

"I don't have a telephone," she said again. "Or a number. We would just have to make plans and hold each other to them."

Drew stopped in mid-stride and his head swung in her direction. There was a nervous smile on his face. "You're not breaking parole, are you?"

It was now or never and there were things she needed to know. "I'll have coffee with you if you give up that damned joke."

Drew grinned. "Deal." He took up his stride again and they were nearly at the car by now; Nell could see it ahead. "So, what have you got planned for tomorrow night?"

"Absolutely nothing." Unless the X-Men had planned it for her and that wasn't likely. The X-Men were accommodating and hospitable, even Logan in his aggressive fashion.

"Seven-thirty at the Beanery? The one we passed a block up? They've got delicious coffee and really big, comfy chairs and sometimes, local guys come in and play acoustic guitar."

That sounded lovely, as long as – "there's no amateur poetry is there?"

Drew laughed and they came to a stop at Storm's car. "No. No open mic for aspiring poets, only people who can play and sing."

"Delightful."

He gave her a strange look. Did people still use that world; it felt dated all of a sudden. Was she dated?

They rested the bags in the trunk with the rest of her assortment. "You really did lose everything, huh?"

Nell nodded. She supposed it could look superfluous, but she wasn't just buying shoes – had she bought _any _shoes? – she was buying underwear and socks and books. Maybe she should get one nice pair of dress shoes or heels, but she hadn't bought any dresses so that wasn't necessary. She was fine, unless she was expected to dress up for this date. Her ideas of modern dating were based greatly on the 80's rerun sitcoms she had watched at the diner in Homestead. In any case, she was fairly certain one of the girls would loan her an outfit.

She looked up and down the street. She bit her lip and looked up at Drew. "If I'm late," she began in a hushed voice and rallied, "if I'm late, don't take it personally. I may need help finding the car again afterward."

Drew chuckled as she opened the door. "I think I can handle that." He came over and shut the door for her, and as the wind swept up around him, that scent that had been hidden beneath the surface swirled up and caught in Nell's senses again.

She brooded over this scent as she pulled away from the curb and began her way back through the maze of nearly identical streets that would lead to the mansion. Was she being rash? She was definitely being duplicitous. The more important question was: how did she convince the man who tried to kiss her earlier that this was simply reconnaissance; because – if she was being completely honest with herself – she had wanted him to.

And the most immediate question was: where the hell was her turn?

* * *

Logan's ears perked up at the first sound of Ororo's car. He had stationed himself on the balcony and he forced himself to take slow, easy steps as he wound down the stairs and toward the garage. Obviously, Nell was fine; it was only a quarter to five. He didn't want to look like worried old mother hen, he was the cock…well, wasn't that the truth.

He found Marie leaning against the rec room door in a manner that reminded him entirely too much of himself, so much that he stopped and looked back, grinning in spite of himself.

Marie must not have liked the grin; she tilted her head to one side and studied him. "That didn't take very long."

He recognized that tone of voice, that way she cut her eyes, and as annoying as it was, at least it was the moody teenager she should have been, so he took the bait. "What's that?" He came over and stood in front of her.

Marie looked up at him, a long, calculating look, too old for her face – everything would always be too old for her – and one eyebrow rose a hair. Her voice was soft and condescending. "I wouldn't have expected the Wolverine to be so fickle," she said with a sneer.

Logan narrowed his eyes and she didn't wilt under his gaze this time, but the hair on the back of his neck rose; he was not looking at Marie, not _his _Marie. She raised her hand to brush a white streak from her face and Logan seized her slender arm in his fist. Her eyes widened but the supercilious air had not left her expression yet. Logan leaned in close, bent his face down so it was close to hers, closer than it had been in a long time. He lowered his voice to that spectacular purr he knew was so good at making people's skin crawl. "Jealous?" he asked.

Her eyes narrowed and then cleared and widened again. A blush covered her face and she looked down, trying to tug her wrist away. Logan shook his head. "No. You listen to me and you listen good." He jerked her arm. "Look at me," he ordered and waited until her head came up and he could search her chocolate eyes, search for her in the hurricane that was her mind. When he saw her there, he calmed slightly, softened his voice a fraction. "I know he's in there. I told you once not to listen to that voice, and if I ever find I'm talking to him again instead of you…" He dropped her arm and stepped back, left the threat hanging in the air like the space between them, great and growing.

Marie sniffled, but she didn't cry, she held his gaze. "You're scared of me too."

"No." Logan took one step forward and pointed at her. "And you shouldn't be either."

"I didn't tell you about her because it wasn't my place. That was her decision."

It was an apology. Logan looked down at the patterned carpet. He could never be all that this child needed him to be; he couldn't be her everything. She was a child. He wasn't a father and he refused to be a love. He could be a friend. He could be a brother.

"I don't care about that." He cast around, looking for answers in the room instead of inside where they wouldn't be anyway. "Stop, Marie, whatever the hell you're doing, stop while it's still you in there."

There was a long pause. "I'd listen to you, if you talked to me like he does," she said very softly, so quietly it would have been inaudible to anyone but him.

This was why the real Marie was hiding; she was wearing away from erosion, little bits here and there as the flood washed through. What little was left, the Marie he had first met, the only way he could ever think of her as, was scared, and she had been scared for a long time. As much as Logan loved her, as much as he understood the terror you could have of your own being, he understood better that eventually you had to shed it, kick it to the curb and walk on. You had to leave it behind or it would never leave you. Marie had been through a lot, and a lot of it with him. If she were listening to his voice – whatever that meant – then she would have known he had already done just that, cast that fear aside and left it to wash away with the thaw.

"You know I don't talk much," Logan tried.

Marie smiled sadly. "Not with words."

"You ever have trouble understanding me?"

They regarded each other for a moment before Marie shook her head. "No, Logan."

He wasn't going to coddle her anymore. The time for comfort had gone. She needed to stand on her own two feet and kick and scream. "All right then." Did she understand now?

Marie held his gaze steady. She took a small breath. "All right."

Whatever that meant. He hoped it meant they understood each other. He couldn't let it hang there. He couldn't fail her because he didn't know how to put words together so they came out well. That wasn't an excuse. "Sometimes you gotta' listen to what people don't say, Marie. Sometimes that's where the truth is."

She watched him thoughtfully. Her eyes were brighter, like they were just before she smiled that great big smile, like they were whenever she looked at him like her hero.

The door opened at the end of the hall and Nell appeared. "Where the hell have you been?" he barked.

"What?" Marie jumped, but she followed Logan's gaze to where Nell came softly down the hall. "Hey."

Logan stared at Nell. She looked just like she had earlier, but there was a bounce to her step, a color to her cheeks. He put his hands on his hips. "What happened?"

Nell came even with them. She glanced between them and her demeanor changed. "I didn't mean to interrupt."

"We're done. What happened to you?" He pressed.

Nell shrugged, but there was a tension in her face that betrayed her. She was hiding something. "I got lost. I don't know my way around."

"Storm said you went shopping."

"I did. I thought if I hurried, the meeting might still be in. I left the bags in the car." She stared back at him without balking. "You want to fill me in?"

He searched her eyes. What was she hiding?

"Professor Xavier locked down the mansion. Until further notice, no one leaves unless he approves it, and even then, no one goes alone," Marie told her. Logan glanced at the girl who was totally comfortable in Nell's presence. "Logan's the only one who freaked out that you were gone. The rest of us listened to Storm the first time."

Logan shot Marie one of his darker looks. "Aren't you the kid who nearly died on our last mission?"

"Magneto wasn't even there."

"Didn't need to be, huh?"

Marie shook her head and turned back to Nell. "Did _anything_ happen to you out there?"

The secret flashed in Nell's eyes again when she glanced at Logan, but she focused on Marie. "A cute guy flirted with me," she said nervously.

Marie's expression faltered. She looked guiltily at Logan, like it was all her fault for bringing it up. She was worried for him. He should have known Marie would see his attraction for Nell. Whether or not he was obvious about it, he was in her head; in some ways, she knew him better than he knew himself, only she was always a step behind. Now she was worried his feelings were hurt. He almost laughed. He wasn't going to cry because some damned stranger had made eyes at Nell. She was a beautiful woman; that was what men did.

Nell reached out and touched his forearm. "Help me carry up my bags?" she said; it wasn't a question and neither was the look in her eyes that demanded to speak to him alone.

Marie glanced at her.

"We can talk later?" Nell asked her. "I may need a favor."

"Yeah," Marie said. She gave Nell an abashed smile. "Maybe you can tell me about the flirting."

"Definitely," Nell confirmed. She took Marie's gloved hand and squeezed it once, then nodded at Logan and inclined her head in the direction of the garage.

Logan turned to Marie. "Remember what I said, kid."

"You mean what you didn't say?" she asked, a sparkle in her eyes.

He smirked. "Right," he said and followed Nell down the hall. He shortened his stride to stay even with her, watching the tension on her face, but she waited until they were inside the garage and the door was closed behind them before she spoke.

"I have to go out tomorrow night."

He flinched. "What happened?"

"What are you, a broken record?" She fidgeted. "The guy that asked me out, I think he's in with Erik."

Logan waited. Clearly there were more details to be had and he'd found over the years that the best way of extracting them was to stand very close to someone and stare until they poured out everything. He took a step closer to Nell. She didn't move.

"Do you have any way to find out who Erik does have working for him?"

"The Professor might know. He could use Cerebro."

A new question flashed in her eyes, but she must have decided it could wait. "Good. I've got a date tomorrow night with a guy I'm pretty sure is working for Erik."

"Yeah?" She had a date? Eight hours ago they were about to kiss and now she had a damned date?

"You know what skin smells like when you've been working with steel?"

Logan raised an eyebrow. He did and it wasn't something you'd notice unless you were up close and personal. "Magneto doesn't smell like that."

"He doesn't have to use his hands to manipulate it."

"Mystique doesn't smell like metal either." He would know.

Now she was the one giving the look. Wasn't this an interesting dance?

"Don't you ever get a gut feeling?" she snapped.

Logan frowned. "Is this a good idea?"

"Tell me you like the idea of sitting around and waiting for Erik to come after one of them. Tell me you like the idea of sitting with your hands in your pockets."

"I know why I'd do it. Why are you doing it?"

"He came after _me_. I intend to return the favor." She leaned in close. "I can do what you can't, not because you won't but because you _can't_."

She could kill Magneto. He couldn't play with her like the puppet Scott called Logan. Nell could strike Magneto down like the lightning she was. She could do it from fifty feet or five. She could look him in the eye and take him down. The Wolverine wanted to, had craved just that very thing since the first night on that train when he saw the look Magneto turned on Marie, but in this world, he would never get the chance, could never kill the bastard with his own hands. He was in fact the only one of the X-Men who couldn't and it stung like a wound that would never heal.

Nell searched his eyes. "If the time comes, if there's an opening, I will take it if no one else does. I will take it to keep Rogue from taking it."

She would. She killed Pyro and she wasn't crying about it. She did what had to be done. She was the rock and the hard place any intelligent son-of-a-bitch knew better than to get between. And she cared about Marie.

"You with me?" she asked.

Logan nodded. "All the way."

She nodded too. "Good. Because I'm going to feel pretty stupid if I'm wrong about this guy and he really was just asking me out." She stepped back and opened the passenger side rear door.

No, they weren't done yet. Logan caught her arm before she could lift a bag. "About earlier…"

She blushed. "Can we just forget it? Pretend it didn't happen?"

Logan hesitated. "That what you want?"

"Sometimes I want that for the last three hundred years."

He squeezed her arm gently, rubbed the soft skin in the crook of her elbow with his thumb, and stepped closer. Nell took a shallow breath. She didn't move back but she didn't look at him either. Their moment was gone. Maybe it was only his to begin with. Maybe she didn't feel anything for him. The last woman he'd kissed…

"What do you want right now?" he asked.

She met his eyes for the briefest of seconds and she stepped back even as she spoke. "I want to get these bags up to my room."

Something had changed. He could sense it in the air. She was farther away now. He reached past her and took several bags in his hands. Nell picked up a ripped bag and carried it carefully. All the way to her room, she stayed slightly behind him, her eyes unfocused and glazed, like she were sleepwalking. This wasn't over though. He hadn't lost her completely.

He had not been inside her room. It was simple and clean, like his. She had made the bed and drawn the curtains. Nothing was spread about to messy up the room, but then, until now, she had nothing to strew about. There was only a large library book on the dresser, _Lonesome Dove._ He had never read it, but if the movie were true at all, he didn't like it. Gus died. Gus was the only one of the damned lot he'd really liked.

Nell sat her bag on the dresser and began depositing its contents there. Logan watched the inventory unfold, mostly food stuffs but for a couple of bars of soap. Nell indicated he could drop his bags on the bed. He did so and turned to leave.

"Would you like some chocolate?" she held up the box. The label was in German; why did he understand it?

"No thanks." He was having trouble with his signals now. Did she want to be alone? When the hell had he learned German?

"Rogue told me you don't remember much, not much more than fifteen years."

Logan turned around. So it wasn't Marie's place to tell him about Nell, but she could tell Nell all about him. He frowned.

"It's wrong, you know," Nell said. She was stacking boxes in neat piles on the dresser and her voice faltered a little. "You should have at least as many years as you look to be."

She turned around and overturned the bags on the bed. Clothes spilled out: flannel shirts, tee shirts, sleeveless men's undershirts, sweaters, socks, bras, panties. The underwear was the only touch of feminine mystique, lacy and silky bits that made his breath catch. He raised an eyebrow at her, but the look on her face was far too distant and fragile for sexual quips.

He struggled to forget the underwear and regain the thread of the conversation. "So then you would have – what? – twenty-two, twenty-four years of memories?"

She shrugged and picked up a pair of jeans to fold. "Do you even know when you lost yours? How?"

He watched her as she folded methodically, shirts and jeans, stacking them in neat piles on the end of the bed. She had four hundred years of memories and she was right; he didn't even have as many years of memories as he looked to be old. Marie had said fifteen years, but there were patches of more than that, foggy, broken patches that didn't make sense to him and he doubted they made any more sense to the girl, but maybe they did. Maybe Marie – being an outsider to his past – had been able to piece some of the fragments together into a sensible framework. Or maybe she was just as lost in the maze as he had been until a couple of short months ago when he determined to give up the ghost and focus on who and where he was now.

How different would he have been if he knew his past? What kind of man had he been: the animal Stryker labeled him or some anonymous mutant or something noble? But that was the point: it did not matter who or what he _used to be_; the past was as dead as Jean, beyond retrieval and beyond saving. There was no use in dredging up those shadows – be they good or bad – because he could only go forward. He had come to that revelation on his own, but he thought Marie was some of the inspiration for it. Learning Nell was like him, that she had been around for hundreds of years and that she _remembered_ them – it had temporarily distracted him, but watching her here in the solace of her room, where he could feel the only peace was on the surface, he recalled his determination. He didn't want to explore years of love and loss with her, or reminisce about days gone by and the way the world never was – they both understood the kindred in each other and it was a waste of time to sit around and talk about it. No, he didn't want to talk. He wanted to move.

Nell was quiet. He could tell she was thinking, mulling over how to say whatever she felt needed to be said. When she finished a pile, she turned and opened a drawer in the dresser and fitted them in carefully. There really weren't that many clothes altogether and when they were stowed away, she turned to the last bag and began lifting out books and stacking them on the end table by the armchair.

She stopped as she held one book in her hand, the cover of which he couldn't see, and she stared at it, and her voice came from very far away. "You think we're alike, don't you?"

Logan shut the door and leaned against it. The one lamp cast the room in a dim light that softened the edges of everything except the edge in her voice. He crossed his arms over his chest and watched her. "I think we've got a few things in common, yeah."

Nell still stared at the mysterious book. "I thought so too. At first. But it doesn't matter how old you really are, you're like a child compared to me."

"Is that right?" He bit his tongue to hold it.

"I've lost more people than you can remember," she said. Her voice was empty and cold, but not with bitterness, with discontent. Finally, she looked up at him. "What do we have in common beyond our skin?"

"That's not enough?" He began toward her, slowly.

"Maybe I was wrong. Maybe I'm the one who thought you could help me understand it all and you were the one were the one who wasn't asking for anything."

Logan stopped in front of her, searched her beautiful, haunted eyes. "I was asking for something."

She looked away, looked down at the book she still held in her hand, _The Picture of Dorian Gray_. A memory floated up to the surface of his mind, and though he couldn't quite catch hold of it, he knew he had once read this book. He took if from her hand and flipped through it, and there was a line underlined on one of the last few pages: _'It was the living death of his own soul that troubled him.'_ He read the last paragraph of the book and he recalled the story vaguely.

"The painting ages instead of him, right?"

Nell looked up, a startled excitement in her gaze. "Yes." She smiled. "You read Oscar Wilde?"

"He wasn't the most popular guy of his times," Logan answered. Again there was the nagging sensation that he knew more than he should have, that there were thousands of memories held captive and waiting to escape and he was pretty damned sure he no longer wanted that to happen. He put the book down on the table and looked Nell straight in the eye. "We're not like Dorian Gray."

"No one can see our scars or our sins," she said.

"He dies," Logan said.

She blinked, stared at him confounded.

"He dies." He said the words slowly and with emphasis. "We don't."

Nell shook her head sadly. "I'm sorry, Logan. I've been alone, pretty much, for nigh on thirty years. I've had too much time to think. It does things to you. You forget how to be with people."

He leaned in. "I'll show you."

Her eyes were bright and faceted and full of questions as he lifted her chin. He nestled his fingers in her long hair and ran his thumb along her jaw. She didn't move as he slipped his other arm around her and pressed one hand against the small of her back. Nell's breath caught and she flattened one hand against his chest. He paused. He glanced down at her hand and back into her eyes. Nell stared at her own hand and then she clenched his shirt in her fist and tugged him. Logan pulled her against him and kissed her hard. He kissed her desperately, urgently, until they were both out of breath and broke away, and then with a ragged gasp, he hoisted her in front of him and carried her to the bed.

Nell didn't hold back. She didn't hesitate any longer. Only once did she press her hand against his chest and stop him. She glanced at the door. "Lock that, will you?"

Logan grinned, kissed her again, and rolled off to secure the bedroom door.

He made love like there was no tomorrow, like he had been away for years and had finally come home. She was perfect. She loved him just as savagely. She fell asleep with her head on his arm and her hand entwined with his.

* * *

**Well? Don't worry, it's not over yet. It's only just begun.**


	14. Chapter 14

**Fourteen**

Rogue paused by Nell's door at 6 o'clock, raised her hand to knock, and froze. The keen senses she had inherited from the Wolverine warned her to take a step back. Logan and Nell were inside that room and they were not talking.

Rogue took a deep breath and crossed her arms over her chest where her heart was threatening to implode from the sheer weight being pressed on it. She had wanted this, hadn't she? On some level, she had seen they were right for each other, that they were attracted to each other, but on the deeper level, on the level that was the closest to the Marie Logan first met, she ached. Down there, on that buried level, he was still the man who had saved her, the man who looked at her like she was special, the man she loved with something more than friendship.

But he didn't see her that way. He had never seen her that way. If she pried, if she dug into the Wolverine in her head – the one who was smug as hell right now over this development – then she knew he had only loved her as a child, as something perhaps akin to a daughter. He would never see her as a woman, even when she was old and grey and he was as virile and strong as he was now.

She swallowed and took another deep breath. She should have realized this with Jean. She should have been able to accept it then, in the depth of his grief for the woman he wanted and never had. She should have gotten over him a long time ago, but she wasn't the only one he enchanted. Nell was the latest proof of that in a long line of evidence that included even Storm. Logan had a way of looking at you that made you feel more like a woman, and few women were invulnerable to that rakish gaze.

She could hear soft groans and smell their sweat. She took another step back and turned. Scott was coming down the hall toward her. Every muscle in her body tensed. His room was down the hall. He was coming for her or for Nell.

Rogue abandoned the door and moved to intercept Scott, but he stopped where she stopped and looked at her. "Are you all right, Rogue?"

His voice was full of concern. She thought if she could see his eyes, they would be tender. She forced herself to smile. "Just, um, distracted. I came up to talk to Nell."

Scott glanced at the door. "Is she not back yet?" he asked, and took a step forward.

"No." Rogue held up a hand. "I mean, yes, she's back. I saw her when she first got back. I forgot she told me she was going to take a nap. She said the traffic was hell and it really stressed her out."

"Oh." Scott eased back, smiling at Rogue. "I need to talk to her too, but it can wait, as long as she's here and she's all right, which reminds me, where's Logan? I need to gloat."

Rogue swallowed. His grin and his five o'clock shadow combined were debilitating. "Honestly, I couldn't tell you," she said and tried to chuckle. "You know how he is."

Scott tilted his head to one side, grinning in a particularly infuriating way. "So do you, as I recall."

"I said I was sorry about that…Didn't I?" She really couldn't remember.

Scott nodded. "Yes. All right, I'll try back later." He took a few steps and turned to look back at her. "You gonna' stand guard so no one wakes her up?"

Rogue shrugged. "Maybe." She watched him disappear into his room and she leaned against the far wall with a sigh. She had come to talk to Nell about their afternoons, about Nell's encounter in town and what Logan had said to her a couple of hours before. She had come to seek advice from a wise woman about the chaos in her mind and the only benefit so far was a state of shock so intense as to overwhelm the cacophony of voices so that there was only her own conflicted soul trying to decide whether to cry or cheer.

Logan wanted her to listen to what wasn't being said. This wasn't what he meant, she knew, but it served the same purpose. Logan and Nell weren't _saying_ a damned thing right now, or if they were, she was damned glad she couldn't hear it.

Rogue focused on the wall firm against her back and the floor solid beneath her feet, and her heart began to slow a little. She steadied her breath. She couldn't stay here. She could play guard under other circumstances, but she couldn't remain here as a silent audience of their fervor. They were adults; she didn't have to protect them. The people most likely to look for either one of them was themselves, except for Scott whom she had already quelled.

She left the door, tiptoeing as she passed it, and started for her own room. She was calmer now. She was beginning to be okay.

_I warned you about that one, my dear._

Shut up.

_Come now, you knew all along there –_

I said, shut up. I don't need to hear you right now.

_Would you rather listen to their coupling?_

If he had been real and not a figment of her mind, Rogue would have slapped him. She felt him realize this and flinch, and she smiled. She couldn't summon up the Wolverine right now; as much as one part of her trusted him unconditionally, another part of her could not ignore the ridiculous sense of betrayal consuming her. He would shut up Erik if she asked him to, but even in her torment, even in her mix of anger and approval, she knew it would make him proud if she handled it herself. It would make _her_ proud, and she could do it, she could feel herself as a strong and separate and righteously angry entity, furious at Erik for trying to murder her in the first place, for using her like a tool, for invading her mind and taking up room like a squatter who had never paid a dime of rent, and for using her insecurities and doubts and purest emotions against her in some futile attempt to manipulate her like his metals. No more.

_Now, my dear, do not be so hasty. I have given you a great deal of guidance—_

No more, Marie screamed inside, and there was silence.

She was in charge. She was still there. She was stronger than the voices. She was the trunk and the roots and the branches those leaves clung to, and those leaves would sprout and wither and drop away, but she would remain.

She was Marie.

She felt a curious lightness. In her fury, she had found herself, and it made her feel strong. It made her feel powerful and she was not going to waste that energy.

Only, how to test it?

The two people who would have been her best guinea pigs were busy in their carnal pleasures. If anything went wrong, they were certain to heal fully and quickly. There was Bobby; he had wanted her kiss enough once to brave her deadly skin. He had come to her recently, had tried to bridge the distance that was growing between them, but he was so young, so naïve. She hated thinking of him that way, but even without being able to hear the Wolverine's or Erik's voices bickering in her head, they had aged her irrevocably and she could not revert to the girl she once was, she could only recognize the ghost. And there was some strange pity or sympathy – she wasn't sure – but it felt wrong to ask Bobby this, to subject him to it. She felt it would give him the wrong impression about their relationship.

Did that mean they were truly done? She stopped by the window a few doors down the hall and stared out. All she could see was the front yard and the driveway. She hugged her arms and looked at the clear sky. What did she feel?

"Rogue." Scott's hand grazed her shoulderblade. She hadn't even heard him approach, she'd been so consumed by her thoughts. "What's wrong?"

She flinched and twisted, nearly losing her balance in her shock, and Scott caught her arms and stabilized her without hesitation. Where his bare hand touched her elbow, the touch was so fleeting, it was safe, and when she met his eyes – as best as anyone could – she thought there was no sign in his face that he had even considered her mutation; he was concerned for _her_.

"I know Nell's a woman, and disturbingly like Logan," he added with a twitch of his eyebrow, "but she's not the only one around here who can listen. I know what it's like to need someone to talk to."

He was so earnest. She smiled. "I didn't want…It's nothing compared to…"

Scott looked down at the floor, but seemed to rally. "You're very sensitive, Rogue. It's an admirable quality, but don't let it keep you from considering yourself. Jean," he cleared his throat. "Jean liked you. She said you talked to her a couple of times. Maybe we're all too sensitive around here, letting everyone else deal with their own problems too much because we don't want to presume we understand them at all. We all know you've been through hell. What Magneto did to you, that was vicious and violating, and we know that." He glanced away, thinking, but went on slowly. "If there's one thing – and only one damned thing – I really trust Logan with, it's you. You came here together and he's always seemed to be the one you trust so I left you to that, but don't think that means the rest of us have forgotten you."

"You're a lot smarter than Logan gives you credit for," she said with a smile.

"What's wrong, Rogue? Did you have a fight with Bobby? I haven't seen you two together in a while."

"No," she stared straight at him and if she stared long enough, she thought she could see his eyes, could hold them with her own. She thought they were blue. He stepped closer to her, the way Logan did when he was about to say something softly, the way a confident man moved who trusted he was in the right, the way a man moved when he was not afraid of her. Rogue tilted her head to accommodate his height and stared in wonder. She was certain now. "You have blue eyes," she whispered.

Scott frowned and then grinned. "Yeah."

They were beautiful, bright blue eyes; the black pupils stood out like night against a clear blue sky. She grinned. Her words came out in a rush. "I've got all these people in my head, mostly mutants. Erik is there and Logan and Bobby, even Pyro, and they never really shut up, and so I've had no choice but to listen to their ranting and raving and griping, but I think I've learned something. I think I'm learning to control my skin."

Scott stared, his mouth slightly agape. He searched her eyes.

"I want to control it. I want to be able to touch my friends without killing them."

Something dark flashed in Scott's face. She frowned. "What? I'm not crazy—"

"No." He shook his head. "Rogue, some of us – some of us can't turn it off. I can't ever take these glasses off and look at you straight."

"But you can touch people. You could touch Jean. You could kiss your wife. I can't even hold hands without threatening to kill a stranger on the bus—" Her voice rose hysterically and she forced herself to stop before she was screaming. She narrowed her eyes darkly at Scott. "You have no idea what I've lost."

He laughed bitterly. "I'll never be able to touch her again. So yeah, maybe I know better than you think I do."

"What if I could control it? What if I…?" What if she could do what Pyro could do, or Erik, or Bobby? She could be their ultimate weapon. She could be a real X-Man. "All I want is a chance," she said.

Scott let out a soft breath. "It's not that I don't trust you, Rogue. I know you'd stop in time, if it didn't work. I just…I don't want to be another voice in your head if it doesn't work." He shook his head. "I don't want to become part of the problem."

"That'll be my fault," she said weakly. She pulled off her right glove.

"I don't know what's in there already. I don't know what you get from the people who touch you. I've got a lot of pain. I don't think you need—"

She cut him off by seizing his hand with hers, concentrating everything she had on holding back the pull. Scott stared at their hands. He lifted them up and held them aloft between them, weaving his fingers among hers. Seconds passed. She couldn't take her eyes off of their entwined hands. Nothing was happening. She felt only the heat of his skin, the calluses on the pads of his palm. She could scarcely breathe.

Scott squeezed her hand and she looked up at him, shocked and elated, ready to burst with tears and laughter. She grinned at him and he almost grinned back, surprise reigning in his expression. She could hardly believe it either. His mouth twitched, like he was trying to speak or wanted to smile and she looked at his lips and the scruff on his jaw, and he gasped. Rogue dropped his hand like a hot iron and jerked away from him.

She felt a trace of him, a single thought that had come through when her concentration faltered and her mutation won out: _I trust you_.

He had not moved, even when she jumped back, he had stood still, had only moved to let his hand fall back to his side. They stared at each other. There was a frantic grin on his face. "You did it."

She took several slow breaths. She had done something, but it was only a start, and there was a dark omen in its success that foretold a lifetime of failure; if she could only touch someone as long as she could concentrate fully on the pull, there were many things she could never do. A kiss would always be too far away, too long, too distracting.

"Rogue, you did it. Be happy."

"It wasn't good enough," she whispered.

He frowned and stepped forward, placing his hands on her covered shoulders. He shook his head, the grin returning in full force. He seemed hysterical himself, as if he were steadying his voice. "Rome wasn't built in a day."

He believed she could do more, that this was only a beginning. He had faith in her. She stared into those brilliant blue eyes. Someone had to have faith in her, she supposed; why couldn't it be him?

"I did it," she whispered.

Scott grinned like an idiot. "You did it. How did you do it?"

She had listened. She had listened to the words and to the silence. Now she needed to listen some more, to meditate and let it all sink in. She was suddenly incredibly tired. "I need to rest," she said. "That wore me out."

Scott nodded. "Come on. I'll walk you. You look a little pale."

She felt a little light-headed, but she couldn't be sure whether it was from the fatigue or the shock. She turned to stroll slowly back to her room, felt Scott's hand light against her back, like a support. They stopped outside her door and he was still grinning. She felt like she might swoon at any moment, but her head was remarkably clear. She put one hand on the doorknob and turned to him. "Don't tell anyone, not yet."

He gave her a single nod. "I swear. Get some rest."

She smiled and turned the knob, slipping into her room and going straight for the bed. She didn't pull the door shut behind her, but she heard it click as it closed, and heard Scott's footsteps drifting down the hall.

She had done it.

_Well done, my dear. I told you it was only a matter of time and will. _

There was a growl again, but it had the pitch she had come to recognize as the Wolverine demanding the others in her head shut up. She needed rest and he knew it.

She fell asleep smiling. She dreamed of Mississippi.

* * *

**Thanks to everyone who's reviewed so far, especially Lucky's Girl. Please keep that feedback coming. Let me know what's working and what isn't.**


	15. Chapter 15

**Fifteen**

It was after ten o'clock that night when Logan knocked on Scott's door. He had left Nell rummaging through her new clothes in a temper, muttering that nothing was appropriate, nothing was "eye-catching." Logan felt otherwise, but when he told her that she looked great naked, that apparently wasn't the right thing to say, so he left her rifling and went to bring Cyclops up to speed.

"Yeah? Come in," Scott called.

Logan opened the door to find the lights on and Scott reading in his chair. Son-of-a-bitch, was he the only one of them that wasn't a bookworm?

"We need to talk," Logan said.

"About how I was right earlier?" Scott asked with a grin.

Logan grinned back. "About how you were wrong."

Scott put the book down and stood up. "Rogue said she was okay."

"Yeah, she's fine. She's got a plan. I thought if you promised not to nag, you could join in." He braced his hands against the doorframe and waited. He ached, in unfamiliar places but in a good way and it was hard not to smirk, hard to keep his mind on tomorrow night instead of going back to Nell's room this instant and finishing this night.

Scott was dressed in a sweater and jeans, like a college frat boy. He looked very young, especially in his bare feet. And he was what Jean had gone for: clean cut and wholesome. Nell on the other hand…Logan looked over himself, his old tee shirt, his plaid shirt, blue jeans and scuffed boots. They were clothes he could work in, what he preferred over those tacky-ass uniforms the Professor insisted upon that practically announced the bunch of them as circus rejects. Yellow spandex, his ass.

"Where were you earlier?" Scott asked. "I wanted to talk to you then."

Logan shrugged. "I got busy." It was none of Cyclops' business what he had been doing for the last few hours. Jean's death still hung over the man's head – over both of their heads – and Logan wouldn't openly admit to anything that might seem like a betrayal of the feelings he had held for her. He wasn't in the wrong. He had loved Jean and he had lost her, and he had never had her to begin with. If she had lived – no, either way, she chose Scott, she chose that pansy husband of hers, and Logan respected that, not so much her choice as the decision itself. Jean had been loyal and true, and he admired that. Nell was like that and she was strong. She was one hell of a woman, and like him, a powderkeg in battle and in bed.

"What are you smirking about?"

"Nothing. Let's go." He backed into the hall.

"Where? We shouldn't leave."

"Aren't you the good dog?"

"You and I are the best protection the kids have if Magneto or his flunkies show up," Scott reminded him in a low voice. "If he is coming, I want to be around when that bastard gets here." He went over to the closet and slipped some pair of shoes on his feet.

Logan nodded. There was no doubt or hesitation in One-Eye's voice and it was about damned time. If anyone asked, Logan was doing this as a favor in Jean's honor, giving her widower a decent distraction and a duty that would keep him from disappearing back into his grief, but in all honesty, it was as much for her as for Scott; he could be a pain in the ass with that stick up there, but he was far from a coward and his mutation was damned useful in a fight.

"I don't want to talk here. Too many kids running around. Too many ears."

Scott scoffed. "In my bedroom?"

"I don't want to talk in your bedroom, all right? Danger Room."

"Fine. I don't want you sitting on my bed anyway. You'd probably get mud or something on it." Scott slipped out of the door past him, flicking the lights off as he went.

Logan caught up with him easily. "You're a pansy, you know that?"

"And you're a Neanderthal."

**

* * *

**

Nell slammed the drawer shut so hard the chest rattled against the wall and started for the door only to realize at the last moment she was still in her underwear. She had only put that on to keep Logan from resuming the activity which had left them both exhausted and far from satisfied. He was not the only one who wanted to go again, but there were things to do, matters to settle before they let themselves get further distracted, and just looking at him was a distraction so she was glad he had finally left to apprise Scott of the situation.

She was still going out with Drew the following night, and if she didn't want to be an obvious spy, then she needed to dress the part. She was undecided yet as to what role she would play, whether or not she would reveal her history and her power. She could be coy, pretend to be nervous and shy, milk as much information out of him about the Brotherhood as was possible…if he was part of the Brotherhood. It was absolutely necessary she remained cognizant of that contingency, or she might do something stupid.

She dressed quickly, pulling on fresh clothes, not the ones Logan had pulled off hastily and cast on the floor. In a simple, black, v-neck sweater and a pair of jeans, she felt presentable and like herself. She felt like a lady, which was good, because she was going to Rogue to borrow clothes that would make her look like one.

She didn't even put on shoes but strolled barefoot down the hall and down to Rogue's bedroom and there she paused, but only for a moment, before knocking; there was no way she had to worry about a teenager being asleep at only ten o'clock.

"Rogue? It's Nell. Are you there?"

"Hold on."

A moment later the door opened to reveal the girl pulling a long-sleeved robe over her tee shirt and shorts. Nell smiled. "Always cautious. You are a dollbaby. I need your help. I need something to wear tomorrow night. I've got a date."

Rogue's mouth dropped open. "He's taking you on a date?"

"I thought I told you earlier. That's part of the reason I was late…" The incredulous gaze on Rogue's face registered. "You didn't mean Drew, did you?"

The girl's mouth compressed into a thin line. "Who's Drew?"

She knew about her and Logan. She knew and she was angry. How did she know? "We need to talk," Nell said, trying to hold back the venom in her voice, and she stepped inside the room, forcing Rogue back, and shutting the door.

Rogue crossed her arms and glared. Nell flicked on the overhead light and rolled her eyes. "Sit down," she ordered in a tone that brooked no argument.

Rogue huffed.

Nell cocked her head and eyed the brunette. "Sit down before I make you sit down."

Rogue sat. There was a hint of betrayal in her face now, but it didn't compare to what Nell was feeling. She forced herself to choose her words carefully. "Were you spying on us?"

"Of course not!" Rogue shouted. She lowered her voice. "I came by your room earlier. I knew you were…"

Nell blushed. "Oh, God. Were we that loud?"

Rogue blushed too. "No, I've got Logan's hearing," she said. "Guess it's a curse sometimes."

"So are you mad at me because I slept with him or because you think I'm a two-timing harlot?"

Rogue flinched and watched Nell warily.

"You want the real story, kid?"

"Yes."

"Good, because the older I get the less patience I have for bullshit."

* * *

Logan fished a cigar from his jacket and lit it, watching Scott where he leaned against the work bench. In the end, Logan had opted for the garage so he could have a smoke. He had filled Scott in on Nell's suspicions and his own ideas for the following night, and Scott had been mulling silently over these for some time.

"You want to kidnap him?" Scott finally asked.

"Yeah," Logan said with the cigar in his mouth.

"You don't think that would be the surefire way to bring Magneto down on us?"

"That's the point," Logan said. He thought Scott was quicker on the uptake, but he maybe the guerilla logic was a stretch for the honorable soldier. Fighting Magneto on his own turf was ridiculous. Waiting for him to strike only left them at a disadvantage. They were strongest on the home field and this was one way to ensure it was a home game. "Only if Nell gives us the signal though. We ain't kidnapping no civilian."

Scott searched the ceiling. "No," he said.

"Why the hell not?" It was a good plan. One-Eye was just sore he hadn't come up with it first.

"The Professor, for one. The kids, for another. We can't bring a hostage into the _school_, Logan. That's too far. We can't _take_ a hostage."

Logan pointed his cigar at the other man. "He's recruiting. That's the only explanation for Nell. If this Alex guy—"

"Andrew. Can you even get his name right?"

"If he's in with Magneto, we can't be sure he doesn't have plenty of others already. I don't need another Sabretooth trying to rearrange my insides."

"We do not take hostages," Scott said firmly.

"We just kill then?" Logan asked in his most instigating fashion.

"We are the good guys, Logan. We don't—"

"I'm not." He said it before he could think about it, and that night he kissed Jean by the jet was dredged up out of memory hell. It was true; he wasn't the good guy. Even on a team of good guys, he was the loose cannon, the rabid dog. He was the one who was happy to go to extremes.

"Yes, you are. The good guys don't—"

"I'm not one of you. I'll do it, if it's too gritty for you."

Scott frowned. "If you aren't one of us, then how the hell did you get a uniform? They selling them down at the biker store now?"

"You know I'm right."

"The bad guy doesn't save the day, Logan. It's the good guys who stay and protect their friends. You never left us when it mattered. You saved Rogue from Magneto. You saved countless people from Magneto."

"Yeah, well, that wasn't all me. I—" He stopped as a grin began to spread on Scott's face. He'd been about to say that was a team effort, that he had their help or it wouldn't have been possible. He had to wipe that silly grin off One-Eye's smug face. "I also filleted a dozen soldiers who broke into this house and went after those kids. Is that what the good guy does?"

Scott shrugged. "You protected them. They were the first thing you thought of." The grin was still there and, though not quite so self-satisfied as it had been, it was sure.

Logan frowned. The truth bore down on him with a sudden and heavy weight. "You can't do this," he said softly.

"What are you talking about?"

"You can't kill him."

Scott stared at him as if he'd just said something unbelievable. The five o'clock shadow was a nice touch, a nice cover, but even if Scott's backbone had straightened, he couldn't do this. He was too good for it, not self-righteous, simply above it; he was not the kind of man who let things come to such extremes and Logan was the kind of man who drove them to it. He was a little disappointed, not in Scott, but in himself for convincing himself of such a ridiculous notion. Scott was not a killer; it wasn't in him and Logan didn't want it to be. And for the first time, he didn't want it simply because it felt wrong, not because Jean wouldn't have wanted it.

"You want to kill Magneto?" Scott asked, disbelief dripping from his voice.

Logan licked his lips. It was time to control the spin, tell Scott what he needed to hear to get him in the game, keep things level enough so that when Magneto finally went down, Scott's hands and conscience were clean. Logan was not out to corrupt the gallant. If there was a job no one else would lower themselves to do, he would do it and save their souls the sin.

"We may have to," he finally said. "I tried once, but my priorities changed." Marie had been in danger and she had been the only thing on his mind; that was why he wanted her as far away from this as was possible, but he had forgotten what it was like to really argue with a woman and Nell had her own ideas about Marie's involvement. He recalled being labeled over-protective and smothering, and being warned that if he didn't back off a little, the girl would probably violently rebel.

Scott seemed to calm down. "We need to put him back in prison."

"Yeah, because that worked so well before." Logan was perfectly happy adding Mystique to the body count he had planned, but Scott didn't need to hear that so he kept his mouth shut. There were other things to settle. "Chuck isn't part of this," he said.

Scott took a shallow breath and nodded. There was no defiance in his tone, only regret. "I know. He can't let go of his friendship for the bastard. It makes him weak."

Chuck wasn't the only weak one. No, that wasn't right. Being incapable of murder wasn't a weakness. "This is you and me, Nell and maybe Rogue."

Scott raised an eyebrow, but closed his mouth before he spoke. A moment later, he said, "And what if we're wrong? What if the guy's just an ordinary mutant who's a little jaded about the way humans look at us and he's not working for the Brotherhood?"

"Then _we_ recruit him, dumbass."

"I really don't like you."

"It's mutual."

* * *

Nell had calmed considerably. She had explained the situation to Rogue and the girl was obviously still wounded over Logan – with and without sensible reason, Nell supposed. She couldn't remember what it was like to have a crush on an older man, partly because she hadn't known one who was actually older than her in about three hundred and fifty years, but also because she had grown out of crushes. The saving grace with Rogue was that the crush was only one level; on a greater level, she loved Logan as a friend, and that level would survive the death of this childhood crush.

Once the situation was clarified, Rogue was ready to raid her wardrobe for this mission, but was upset to discover that her clothes were too big or too teenager-y and this seemed to be the last straw in a long line of straws and Rogue sat down on the bed in disgust and despondence.

Nell, who had been seated in the armchair for a while now, leaned over and put her elbows on her thighs and threaded her fingers together in the air between her knees. She eyed Rogue. Over the centuries, the clothes had changed and the men, but apparently, they had lost none of their potency when it came to a young woman's emotions. Mina had been heartbroken once, early, before she even knew what love was, and it didn't matter how ridiculous the slight, or how small, watching a heart break was just as painful as it had always been. Nell felt so old then, less than ten feet away from this infant – compared to her – and she felt she had been through enough and she could not take one ounce more, but Rogue was nearly in tears – there was obviously more on her mind – and Nell would not sit idly by while this heart cracked.

"Can I tell you a story?" she asked softly.

Rogue met her eyes across the room. "Does it have a happy ending? I think I need a happy ending right now."

"It doesn't have an ending yet," Nell said. "It isn't done."

Rogue sat up straighter. She seemed to realize this would be Nell's story. "Tell me."

"When I was young, I had a wonderful husband and a beautiful daughter and I didn't realize until she was a teenager that I was the only one of them who wasn't growing older. I knew of my mutation by then – the lightning – because it had been the hell of my childhood. It nearly got me burnt at the stake…and it might have killed me then, I was still aging then. But by the time I was thirty, I realized I had quit aging, a short time after my daughter was born, I believe. I lived as good a life as I could, in mortal fear for my own soul. I may not have been the 'witch' they called me, but obviously I wasn't human, and now not only did I have a devilish power but seemed to have a demon's life span. I probably would have gone mad if my family hadn't loved me so. They realized as I did – Mina may have realized before even I – that I would not grow old with them." She leaned back in the chair and crossed her arms. "It bothered Fritz sometimes. It made him feel lonely, but he was a good man, honest and hard-working and able, and I stayed by him to his dying day. I think it's harder to begrudge someone her longevity when it increases yours. He lived to be in his eighties, a damned sight better than most people did in those days, and it was because I took care of him. I cooked and cleaned and hunted, but he chopped wood and kept a fire and we took a short walk every day, even the day he died." She had to swallow now to keep tears back she hadn't expected. All these years later, could it still hurt so bad? "Died in his sleep. Mina was in her sixties then and she was strong, but not as strong as her father. She was married and she had so many children. They wore her out. I had abandoned the Church by then – they were so quick to abandon me – but I wasn't going to risk anything for Fritz. Mina and her husband – God, I can't even remember his name, but he was a nice man – they knew about me, and their children knew, and the grandchildren. One thing a family knew in those days was how to keep a bloody secret and they did."

She stopped at looked at Rogue who was rapt with attention, whose eyes held the same glitter and excitement she had seen in her child's eyes at story time, and in her children's and her children's children. "So much happened when I was younger. I fear I'll leave out something important, confuse the story. My first village, I burned it to the ground when they tried to burn me at the stake. My parents were already dead by then, and my siblings had left me. The Church was the most powerful force on the planet and they feared me like everything else. It was Mina that had the power to quell the superstition. She was the reason the children loved me without fear, why they protected Fritz and me in those old woods. Anyway, my great-grandchildren came and helped me to dig a grave and we had a Father come bless it and say the prayers. Everyone pretended I was one of the children." She smiled. No one had been the wiser. The priest himself was a young thing who wouldn't have believed the superstitious fairy tales anyone in the village told of an immortal witch living in the old woods. "I stayed in Germany until Mina died a few years later. Fever. She should have outlived me. They all should have."

She sighed. Was it seventy-five or a hundred years later when she had been trampling her way across Europe, trying to find some real kind of life, and had come back through that God-forsaken town? She visited her husband's grave and left wildflowers on his and her daughter's, and she had chanced in the greater cemetery to find even that priest's resting place. It all made one feel so ancient and exhausted. But that wasn't the story she had meant to tell. She had gotten started, told some of the necessary background, and let herself get side-tracked. She looked up at Rogue who was watching her thoughtfully, with a great sadness in her eyes, and she cleared her throat and sat a little straighter. "That wasn't what I meant to tell you. There's a different story."

Rogue nodded. She looked confused, but she seemed to be along for the ride.

Nell searched her memory for the relevant details. "In the late sixties, I was living in New Mexico. I was desperately trying to avoid the whole Beatnik-become-Hippie stage, and I was working as a milliner, just to pass the time and look like a normal woman, when I met Joshua. He was telekinetic – that was his mutation – and he was an F.B.I. agent. He had actually chosen to become one to help protect mutants, keep us out of the headlines and the case files. He was in New Mexico on a case, trying to cover up an incident involving a mutant who could fly, and we hit it off like gangbusters. I followed him back to D.C., where he was living, and we were together for a year. Then he went to New York – I don't even remember why – and I lost him. Mystique had found him. I knew of her already, though I can't remember why, and when he sent me a 'Dear Jane' letter, I left him to her. He deserved whatever he got and I went back to what I did best, starting over, making up a new identity. Six months later, when that son-of-a-bitch tracked me down – damn the Bureau for training him so well – I was working at a library in Minneapolis. Oh, he came crying back. She hurt him bad, he said. She done him wrong. She used him. And he was fired from the Bureau and in danger of being jailed for the rest of his life for letting some woman finagle about fifty case files out of his possession." Nell grinned at the curious expression on Rogue's face. "Oh, yes, she knew exactly what she was doing. Joshua was the fool. He drank himself to sleep for a few months – I wasn't taking him back – before Erik Lencher showed up and invited him to be an associate of an organization Erik was forming. Joshua would have none of that. No way was he joining up with that harlot's new boyfriend, and he was stupid enough to get into a fight with Erik. He didn't last very long and he wasn't the first man Erik killed."

"You were there?" Rogue asked. But that wasn't the real question. What Rogue had meant was: if you were there, why didn't you stop him and save the man you once loved?

"No. Actually, one of Joshua's friends was there, a mutant he had helped, who could become invisible. Aaron told me all about it and all about the conversation Magneto and Mystique had while they rummaged through Joshua's files, looking for anything else they could use. It was Mystique who left Erik that first time, tired of his holier-than-thou attitude and looking for a change, but apparently she didn't find the rest of the world so affectionate as he, and when she found Joshua she decided there was something to Erik's cause. They used his case files to recruit mutants, or to try. I think there were very few who actually signed up. Refusal did not mean death. Erik wasn't stupid. He knew leaving a trail of bodies would certainly bring notice upon him. He was rather small time back then, making a scene once in a while, showing the world that mutants were here to stay, usually getting his agents killed in the process. So most of the time, it was just him and Mystique, and like I told Logan the other day, those two alone are a force to be reckoned with."

Rogue nodded. She didn't seem to think the story was over yet. Nell must have let herself get distracted again. She wasn't sure she had told the right story this time either or that she had focused on the important details. There was one thing left to be told. "Erik never came looking for me then. He didn't know I existed. I learned from Aaron that Joshua had made sure my file never made it into Mystique's hands. He burned it. He never completely trusted her, Aaron said, and so he made sure she never knew about me. He may have broken my heart. He may have left me for a cold-hearted bitch, but he didn't betray me completely."

Rogue frowned. Nell saw now that she had messed up. She had told two completely different stories, two stories that neither really had morals or hopeful conclusions, and she had circumnavigated the point of story-telling altogether. This was exactly why she had learned to keep her mouth shut over the years; she never knew how to say what she really wanted to say.

Nell stood up. She tucked stray hair behind her ears and shoved her hands in her jeans pockets. "We heal," she said shortly. "Whether we want to or not, and then we make the same damned mistake we said we'd never make again. That's life and no matter what anyone tells you, we're only human, Rogue." She looked at the pile of clothes on the bed. "Come on, we've got a mission to plan."

"I'm going?"

"You're surveillance. You and Scott."

"What about Logan?" Rogue asked.

"He's going to be the safety. If things get out of hand, he shows up…and blows them further out of hand."

"How's that?" Rogue asked and she frowned in a way that revealed she knew her question wasn't clear. "I mean, what's he going to do, exactly?"

Nell grinned. "He's going to play my angry ex-boyfriend."

* * *

Scott had crossed his arms and was pacing the concrete floor, an aggravation which drove Logan to teeth-grinding. "Do you have to do that?"

"What about Storm?" Scott asked. "I don't feel right, leaving her out."

Logan shrugged one shoulder and stubbed out his cigar. "The fewer people involved, the better. We don't know what we're dealing with yet."

"She'll kill us if she finds out."

"She stands out," Logan pointed out. "She's not the kind of woman who blends in well."

"And I do?"

"Well, as much of a woman as you—"

"I mean, really, Logan. How many men sit around in coffee houses, wearing sunglasses at night?"

Their eyes met and both sniffed and looked away.

"Isn't there some song about that?" Logan asked.

"I'm serious."

"So am I." He exhaled. "You can blend in with the furniture. You're boring."

"What about Bobby?"

"No!" Logan shook his head. It wasn't that he didn't trust Bobby, but he trusted Scott more. He trusted Scott to protect more than just Rogue, if Logan was too late, if he couldn't get there in time. Hell if he was going to tell the tightass that, though. "You can do more damage, if it comes down to a fight."

"Fine." Scott nodded impatiently. "So I guess my job to come up with some lie to tell the Professor about where we're going."

Logan raised an eyebrow. "You going to try to lie to the psychic?"

"Did you have a better plan?"

"I was just going to leave…more quietly than I usually do…and with fr—others."

Scott smirked. "All right. It sounds like we're going to have a busy day tomorrow. I think I'll get some sleep."

"Yeah, you need your beauty rest," he said as Scott strode away.

"Not as much as you," Scott called back, and the garage door slammed shut.

Logan grinned. He waited a few minutes to let One-Eye make his way back up to his room in his grandpa-slippers, and then he took his time strolling back up to Nell's room, contemplating the logistics for the following night that she and he had arranged. Little things might need to be tweaked in the end, but it was a good plan, and he felt better knowing that even though she was going out with some boy the next night, she was coming back home with him.

Her door was ajar as he came up to it and he looked in to find her modeling a little black dress in front of the mirror. His breath caught and Nell's head snapped in his direction.

"Where'd you get that?" he asked. He knew damn well it had not come from Marie. It had better not have come from—

"One of Rogue's friends." She narrowed her eyes at Logan and took a step back from the mirror. "Don't even think about it. You can wait until I take this dress off. Don't you dare wrinkle this dress." She held up a hand in front of her.

He came in and shut the door behind him. "Go ahead. Take it off. I can wait."

Nell gave him a cock-eyed grin and slipped the dress over her head.

* * *

**All right. Ready for the action to pick up again? What else are you ready for?**


	16. Chapter 16

**Sixteen**

Scott was uncomfortable. He had agreed to this plan because – as much as he hated to admit it – it made sense. The X-Men could not keep waiting around for Magneto to make a move; they had to make some moves of their own. But did these things always have to happen when everything else was so complicated?

He looked across the little café table at Rogue and tried to smile. There was something wrong in this; he felt like a sort of decoy, even though he knew their role was nothing like a decoy, he felt it. Maybe it was because he knew Logan was somewhere nearby, watching the two of them probably as much as the street where Drew and Nell would appear at any moment. Nell had described Drew, but it was a bland enough description that Scott couldn't be sure the man wasn't in the café with them already. Only Nell he knew for sure was missing, as they had purposely dropped her off a block up so she could walk down and arrive half an hour later than they who would be in position.

It was nearly seven-thirty. Where was she? And where was Logan hiding? The Wolverine was perched somewhere in the vicinity like a watchdog, like he was running this mission, like he was the –

"Scott, calm down. Logan's keeping an eye out." Rogue smiled at him over her coffee mug. "Everything's going to be fine."

"Where is he?"

"I'm not telling you. If I tell you, you'll keep looking at him." She leaned back in her chair. "And you're supposed to be paying attention to me, remember? We're on a date."

She said the last part in an exasperated tone he knew too well and he had to grin. She was playing her part better than he, but she knew where Logan was, and he didn't. He eyed the street window again and felt a soft kick against his shin. Rogue raised her eyebrows at him and waited.

"Listen to the girl," Logan growled through his earpiece.

Rogue grinned and picked up her mug again. "So what are you going to do for my birthday?" she asked in a coy voice.

"Your birthday's coming up?" He had never thought to ask Rogue when her birthday was. He felt a little bad.

"You always forget the important things," Rogue said with an angry sigh. "I don't even know why we're still together."

"What are you talking about?"

"Valentine's Day. Christmas. Now my birthday? Do I mean anything to you?" She put such a spoiled tone to the last question that she smirked and had trouble keeping a straight face. Scott finally caught up with the parade. She really intended to play the whole night as a character. It wasn't a bad idea, but if they kept going in this manner, they'd be broken up before Nell even arrived.

He took a deep breath and looked softly into her eyes. "I'm sorry, baby. You know it's just work. I get so stressed out. There's always some new contract and some new client to schmooze. But I couldn't do it if I didn't know you were waiting for me outside of that prison cell. You know I love you."

Rogue rolled her eyes. "I know you love your job."

"It's just a job. It's nothing compared to you. You're my life, sweetheart. Why do you think I have to see you everyday? Why do you think I call you every night?"

She crossed her arms, and she looked so much like a woman who was slowly budging, Scott nearly laughed out loud. Where had she learned the role of angry girlfriend so well? Certainly she and Bobby hadn't gotten very far. This charade was actually kind of fun.

"So take me somewhere special. I want to go somewhere on my birthday."

"The whole weekend. Anywhere you want to go," Scott promised like a pious boyfriend.

"New York City," Rogue declared. "Times Square. Broadway. And I want to go shopping."

"I'll buy you everything you want. Jewelry and dresses and –"

"Pretty lingerie?" She asked.

Both flinched as Logan's cleared his voice over the radio. Rogue blushed and giggled. Scott looked down into the mocha-frappe-latte-something that Rogue had ordered for him and felt heat rising in his own cheeks.

"I think that's enough role-playing for the night," Logan growled. "It's go time."

Scott started to look over his shoulder at the door, but Rogue kicked him again under the table. She shook her head. "You're not very good at espionage, are you? Stop drawing attention to us or I'll have to stage a real fight just to throw off suspicion. There's an open table right next to us. Why do you think I've been glaring at anyone who tried to sit there? Now, calm down, and make small talk."

He had to hand it to her. She was good at the sneaky stuff. Had she gotten so used to hiding that it just came natural or was this what she enjoyed doing?

"So…about last night," he began, and even he knew it came out sounding wrong.

Rogue widened her eyes at him in a warning fashion and shook her head. She mouthed, _Not now_. Not with Logan listening, is what she meant. It was strange she'd want to keep something so exciting secret from the one person she had always seemed to trust above all others. It made it all the more worrisome. He was happy for her, yes, but he was also troubled. What had Rogue been doing that she was suddenly able to control her mutation? What had the voices in her head been saying? Were they even voices? What was it like? They had to talk about something, so he asked.

"What's it like in your head?"

"What?" Rogue asked distractedly. She had been watching the counter out of the corner of her eye and now she sat her mug on the table, rotated it around and picked up the handle with her other hand. It was a signal; it meant Nell had come in with her date. He must have been waiting on the street. He had laughed when Rogue decided on the signals, but now he was happy she had insisted on hand signals instead of code words.

She was watching him cautiously. He didn't suppose they could talk about the voices in her head since Magneto was one of them and this man might be one of his associates. Scott sighed. This was going to a long night. Bobby would have been better; he and Rogue could have had a real date. How many of those had she had? She deserved that, not to be sitting here with her professor, pretending to be on a date. And she looked nice. She was wearing long sleeves, of course, but it was an elegant red blouse that complimented her long black slacks which complimented her…Well, he had never really noticed Rogue's legs and he was glad Logan could only hear what he said out loud.

"I like Gilbert and Sullivan," Scott said suddenly.

Rogue's mouth twitched. "What?"

"Their plays. I like them. I like musicals."

Logan snorted.

"Really?" Rogue asked. "I've never seen any of them."

"They're worth it, if you get a chance. So, what do you like?"

She smiled, a curious twinkle in her eye. "Really? Me? Not my alter-ego?"

"You. What do you like?"

She looked up briefly as Nell settled down at the table next to them and a dark-haired young man sat down across from her. The four of them exchanged that brief glance strangers exchange whenever someone sits down near them and went back to their own pairs.

Nell looked amazing in that dress. Wherever Logan was stationed, Scott hoped he couldn't see that dress or he'd be absolutely useless for the night. The young man with her was younger than Scott, college-age, but he was wearing practically the same outfit: a solid sweater black where Scott's was navy blue, and khakis. Some clothes would always be stylish.

Rogue tapped the side of her mug thoughtfully and grinned conspiringly at Scott. She looked nervous, like she wasn't quite sure whether she should tell him or not. "I like Cary Grant movies. Cary Grant and Audrey Hepburn and Shirley Temple. I like westerns too. Especially John Wayne, but I never watch the ones where he dies. I can't watch those. I only watch the ones where he lives."

* * *

Nell felt over-dressed. She should have thought of this. Someone should have told her she was dressed to the nines which was a little much for a first date in a coffee shop. Drew had been very flattering, but she couldn't help feeling ostentatious.

"I was afraid you wouldn't come, honestly," Drew was saying.

She met his eyes and smiled. "Why?"

"I wasn't sure I made the right impression. I thought I might have overdone the parole joke." He chuckled and picked at the sleeve of his sweater. Had he noticed the "stranger" at the table next to them was wearing nearly the identical set of clothes? She tried not to smirk. Logan would have something to say about that.

"You were funny. It was charming." She took a sip of her coffee, house brew with a dash of milk. She hadn't understood what half of those items were on the menu. Drew had ordered something with more syllables than a Hawaiian town and seemed happy with it. It smelled lovely, but she didn't want to order some fancy concoction only to hate it and waste her money, even if she did have loads of it; that was one thing about living forever, if you invested your money early, you never had to work for it again. She only worked to keep her hands busy.

Rogue and Scott were talking about movies. That was good; that was natural and unobtrusive. Would it be obvious she stole their idea if she did the same thing? Could she talk about movies when she hadn't been out to see one in thirty years? Dear God, this was going to be a long night.

"So…read any good books lately?" Drew asked.

Thank God he was a librarian. She could handle book chatter. She had read thousands by now. "Actually, I've been reading _Lonesome Dove_ again. It's a great story."

He bit his lip. "I've never read that one," he said nervously. "I'm kind of a science fiction guy myself. I think westerns are the polar opposite."

"Nah," she said. "Big battles, arch-nemeses, damsels in distress. Only the setting changes. Have you ever read _The War of the Worlds_?"

Okay, she could do this. She could occupy a couple hours of her night talking books and stories and be absolutely fine. Except that such conversation would yield no practical information about his other pursuits, like attempts at world domination with a mutant better known as Magneto. This was a stupid plan and she wished someone had told her so at the onset.

She waited until he finished a remark about preferring the newer writers and broke in. "I guess you get sick of discussing books, huh? Working at a library, you probably talk about books all day? That's how it was when I worked at a library once." In the seventies! What was wrong with her anyway?

"What library? Where was this?" he asked excitedly.

Nell waved her hand. "High school," she said dismissively. "That was all the real librarians wanted to talk about. Don't get me wrong, I love books, but I just wanted to shelve them and leave so I could go out with my friends."

Drew laughed. "Yeah. So enough about books. What else do you like to do?"

She propped her chin on the heel of her hand, thinking as much as eavesdropping on the next table over. Rogue was describing the plot of _The African Queen_ and Scott was listening attentively. If she hadn't known the truth, she would have thought it was a real date, which was more than she could say for anyone spying on her own. It wasn't that she didn't know how to answer his question; it was just that she'd been around so long there was too much she could say. She liked fishing and horseback riding and rugby and chess. She liked ballroom dancing and sewing, drinking tea over biscuits and playing the piano, and walking in the woods. She liked life, as much pain and torment as it brought her at times, she had come to love so much of it. She had found peace in the strangest places and joy in others, and she had found a lot in mankind, truth and loyalty and integrity.

"I like people," she said truthfully.

Drew thought about this.

"I like how resilient they are, how they can take so much and get back up and go back for more." She pretended to look around the room, but her eyes met Rogue's for a second longer, and she smiled as she turned back to Drew. "Do you know what I mean?" He still looked confused or simply surprised. "That wasn't what you meant, I suppose. Ah, well, I like cutting wood and building a fire."

Drew laughed. "You're different."

"Is that bad?"

"No. That's fantastic." He flashed a brilliant grin at her. She blushed. "But I guess we're both different," Drew went on in a pointed way. "How _else_ are you different?"

Nell glanced around nervously, but he put his hand over hers and shook his head with a smile. "You don't have to show me. Just tell me. What can you do?"

All cards on the table then? She didn't want to sit around all night pretending to flirt anyhow, might as well get a move on. "I'm electric," she said softly.

"I know, but what's your mutation?"

Nell was not amused. She raised an eyebrow at him. Drew frowned and leaned in closer. "You're serious?" He paused. "So what's that like?"

"I stay pretty energetic," Nell confided. His surprise seemed genuine. Maybe he hadn't known who she was. Maybe he wasn't an agent sent to retrieve her.

"I can understand why you wouldn't want to show that off. People are scared of you, right?"

"It's a scary thing," she said seriously.

"No, it's not. It's who you are and you shouldn't have to hide it because people can't get over themselves. We live here too."

There was a sense of years of pent-up anger threatening to come through in his voice. Nell tilted her head to one side. "I've got good friends. I don't have to hide my powers around them."

"Still," Drew began. "It isn't right. Sometimes I feel like we live in a cage. We'll never be free if something big doesn't change."

"I don't know about that. Last I heard some guy tried to make a big change and ended up in prison. Did you hear about that?"

Drew bristled. "I don't know why he even bothers with you."

Nell flinched. She stared across the table at Drew who gazed at her levelly. "Come on," he said. "We could dance around the point all night or we could both just fess up about why we're here."

She knew it!

Drew smiled in an aggravating fashion. "You wouldn't join him over your dead body, would you?"

"Damned straight."

"That can be an option," Drew offered.

"Not likely," Scott said. He stood up beside Nell, one hand on his glasses.

Drew laughed. "I'll give you credit. He said you were so gung-ho you'd come alone, like that Wolverine idiot. Congrats, you were proactive enough to bring reinforcements. But they won't help."

In less than the blink of an eye, Drew was behind Rogue, a broad grin on his face. Scott moved and Drew was gone again. Nell heard his voice behind her, behind Scott. "My boss can't make you an offer you can't refuse if he never gets to make the offer, but you've been making that rather difficult. So I'm helping." He whipped around Scott and grabbed Nell's wrist, and she dove away from the table, bringing him down over top of her.

The café erupted as other patrons jumped up from their seats to stare at the scene. Rogue wasn't wearing gloves. She was creeping toward Drew who was leering down at Nell. "Gotta' run," he said, and Nell felt his arms go under her before she could move, and they were gone, the world moving too fast for her eyes to register it as it passed them by, but she heard Rogue scream.

* * *

Logan got tired of listening to their chatter after about the first thirty seconds so he didn't realize it had stopped right away, but he could hear other voices loud and clear, that was one of his many gifts. Nell cursed. Logan moved to gaze into the window and saw Scott stand up and reach for his glasses. Son-of-a-bitch, Scott was hesitating.

Logan dashed for the door, but people were rushing out now. They jammed up the doorway like a bottleneck in traffic and he couldn't just throw them aside. He fought his way through the crush, but it was too slow. Finally there was an opening and Logan raced for it, only to collide with what felt like a speeding brick wall. He flew up and out, his back slammed into the street light so hard, he heard metal crunch, and he hit the pavement with a crack and a groan.

A moment later, he was able to roll over and look up. Scott's and Rogue's faces appeared in the air above him. Rogue offered him a hand up and then looked at her bare hand and retracted it sheepishly. Scott helped him to his feet and Logan spit blood on the sidewalk. "Taking things a bit fast, isn't he?"

Scott stared. "How can you joke at a time like this? Did you see how fast he moved—"

"No, not really."

"Magneto could have her by now for all we know. What the hell were we thinking?"

Logan rolled his neck back and forth, cracking it and easing out the tension from his various collisions. "It's all right. Plan B."

Scott looked at Rogue. "Plan B?"

She shrugged. They both regarded Logan with a mix of anticipation and impatience.

"All right," Scott said. "What's Plan B?"

Logan grinned. "Surge."

* * *

Nell had no idea how fast they were going or how far they had gone, but she knew the ride was over. She had been building up a charge since Drew first revealed his opinion of their date and now she released it in one fell swoop. For a few seconds, she had to rely on sounds because things were still moving too fast for her to see, and then everything came together in an awful rush: Drew's scream, horns blaring, tires screeching, and a glimpse of asphalt right before the grill of a truck sent her careening high through the air and landed her with a heavy crash on the roof of a cab. She felt and heard bones crack and for a few blessed moments, everything went away.

When she came to, the cabbie and the truck driver were arguing about who had killed her and who should call the police. So that was part of the reason she had never moved to New York. Nell sucked in air as her lungs recovered and both men screamed like little girls and jumped back. She propped herself up on one elbow and nearly passed out again. Her back was broken in several spots; it hadn't healed yet. With a sigh, she gave herself a violent push and rolled off of the roof onto the pavement a few feet below. She passed out again from the landing.

This time when she awoke she could hear sirens. The two drivers, neither of whom seemed to speak English, were peering over her like an alien that had crashed in the city streets. She could feel her fractures fusing back together, skin closing, and she lay there and let her body work its magic for a bit before she pushed herself to her feet. The drivers may have been speaking another language, but it was clear now that they were praying. She thought she recognized the Hindi word for demon.

Stretching, she looked around. There was no sign of Drew so she hadn't killed him. At least not immediately, which was annoying in the sense that she might never have as good a chance again. There was a large crowd of people staring at her now, pedestrians and drivers who had climbed out to ogle the chaos. No wonder the accident was so bad; it was an intersection. She looked up at the street signs. This was the corner of Mercer and 8th. Where the hell was the café?

She sighed, wiped her gritty hands on her dress – Kitty wasn't going to like this – and started walking. If there was one thing she did not want to deal with right now, it was the authorities. If she could disappear fast enough, those two superstitious drivers might be able to convince themselves they saw a ghost or a demon or whatever; the Mexican was making the sign of the Cross. She would go up the street a little ways and ask directions to the coffee shop. Now, what was its name?

* * *

"We have to go after her," Marie protested. "We can't just stand here."

"Give me a second," Logan growled. He felt like he'd been hit by a train and since he'd been hit by a couple in his days, he knew the feeling.

"I'm going after the car," Scott said and ran off.

Marie glared at Logan. "What now?"

"She can handle herself, trust me." He felt the wind on the rise and caught a high-pitch whistle. Rogue's face tensed. She heard it too. Logan waited until it hit a particular height and then threw his right arm in a furious back-fisted punch. A yelp and a thud accompanied this move and suddenly there was Drew flat on his back on the street. He gazed up at Logan with bloodshot eyes and laughed bitterly.

"I was afraid you might try that," Logan said, and he bent to grab the man but he was already up and behind Marie, one arm curled around her neck.

"You forget who you're dealing with," Drew warned.

"So do you," Marie said and elbowed him hard in the gut. He winced and was gone, appearing a second later ten feet away, holding his stomach, spitting out blood.

"I didn't do that," Marie whispered. This was the bad guy and here she was, worried she'd made him bleed. How the hell did Logan get involved with these people?

"No," he said with a satisfied grin. "I did that."

"Where's Nell?" Marie demanded and Drew looked at her in a way that made the hair on Logan's neck stand up. No one was taking his girl hostage again.

"Have you got some threat to deliver or do you just have too much free time on your hands?" Logan baited.

"This isn't over."

"That's original. You think of that all by yourself?" Logan asked. He grunted as a fist collided with his gut and he hit the pavement. He laughed. "That all you got?"

"Logan!" Marie chided.

"Come on. You can do better than that."

What felt like a brick collided with his jaw and a man's scream rent the night. Logan chuckled and watched Drew drop to his knees, cradling his fist in his other hand. Tears streamed down his face. He was not the first man to make that mistake, but he was the only one Logan had met who could put such momentum behind the punch. That hand would never heal right. He'd probably never be able to use all of his fingers again, or possibly any of them.

Logan crouched down and seized the mutilated fist and Drew screamed again. "Got a few questions for you."

Drew shook his head. He tried to pull his hand away and Logan held it tight. In defeat, Drew leaned over and spit more blood on the pavement. His breath was ragged and shallow and he was trembling in a way that suggested serious internal damage. Logan wasn't sure how much he could claim and how much Nell had done, but obviously Drew wasn't going anywhere for a few minutes, maybe never again.

"You working for Magneto?"

"You gonna' waste my time asking questions you already know the—" He broke off with a scream as Logan squeezed the broken fist. "Yes! Yes!"

"Logan!" Marie yelled.

"What?"

"We're in the middle of the street. We can't do this here." She looked around in a panic.

"We don't have anywhere better." The bystanders had scattered, some back into the café and some up the street where he could hear sirens blaring. He looked back to his hostage. "What's he planning?"

Drew grinned and shook his head. "Like he'd tell me."

"How many does he have?"

Drew sniffed in what turned into a hacking cough and more blood landed on the pavement. He looked up at Logan as blood dripped from his lip. "An army."

Logan dropped the man's fist and stood. He looked down at Drew, a long way down. "So he wants a war?"

"He'll have one."

"Not if I can help it."

"That's a shame," Drew said. He sniffed and the trail of blood oozing out of his nose disappeared momentarily. "He said to tell you that he could let bygones be bygones if you were willing to admit you don't belong with this 'menagerie of fools.' But I don't think he got his hopes up."

Logan grimaced. That bastard had the audacity to offer him a place in the Brotherhood, after all that had happened? "He knows better than that." It was a subtle insult, though. It fit Magneto's character.

"The invitation was not for you alone. He said your 'chit' was welcome too." Drew cut his eyes at Marie and Logan backhanded him before he'd even thought about it.

"Logan!" Marie shook her head. Of course she would never defect to the enemy, he knew that, but he would not have his or her honor insulted by the bastard that had nearly sent her to an early grave. He was almost tempted to let this new villain go just so that he could take a message back to his superior, so that he could _be_ the message.

"No matter," Drew said. His eyes lingered on Marie and he only looked away as Logan raised his fist again. "It's a pity about Nell. I really did like her."

"She's taken," Logan growled.

"He's told me about you, all of you. A bunch of self-righteous, goody two-shoes raising up the next generation of self-righteous goody two-shoes, but we all know you don't belong there. Somebody put a muzzle on you, but it'll come off."

Logan unsheathed one set of claws. "How about right now?"

"I'm one soldier," Drew said grimly. "And I'm not dead yet."

He was gone – not so quickly as before, Logan watched a streak fly up the street and disappear around the corner – and Logan turned to Marie, retracting his claws. "You all right?"

Marie stared at him. "I'm not the one who cracked the sidewalk. Yeah, I'm all right."

Logan shook his head. Was she always this smart-assed or did she get that from him? "Come on, kid. Time to go home." He could hear the familiar engine making its way up the street and he wished Scott had been faster. If One-Eye had gotten to the car sooner, he might have been able to run over their prey and simple things up a hell of a lot.

Marie dusted his back off and crossed her arms, and they stood by the sidewalk waiting for Scott like they were waiting for a bus. Marie looked up at him and he caught a whiff of fear. She was suddenly terrified. He looked down at her.

"What's wrong, kid?"

"We have to tell the Professor now, don't we?" she asked and her voice almost shook.

Logan sighed. He'd forgotten about that. She was still so young. Her worst fear was getting scolded. There was no use in hiding it from her. He put his hands on his hips and let out a short breath. "We have to get ready for war now."

* * *

Erik was sitting at his desk when Rush came limping into his office supported by Glass. Mystique who had been perched by the barred windows, turned her head to watch them in that strange mix of curiosity and disdain he had never seen anyone accomplish so well as she. He felt something similar so he could not begrudge her such disgust when she was the only one of his associates who had ever been truly capable. What savage idiots he had surrounded himself with; it was no wonder he had not succeeded.

He summoned up a bench and watched Glass help Rush lower himself onto it, and he waited, trying his best to look concerned instead of supremely impatient as he honestly was. "I gather you had trouble," he finally prompted. Rush did not seem inclined to speak; he seemed inclined to pass out or possibly expire. He could do either, as soon as he relayed any pertinent details he had gained from his otherwise failed mission.

Rush was apparently not so obtuse as some of his former associates. The look in his bloodshot eyes betrayed he had heard the condescension in Erik's voice. Oh well. Rush leaned over, coughed, and spit up a large spot of blood on the granite floor. That was one advantage of living in a hollow mountain lair; one did not have to worry about draperies and carpets. He would order someone to wipe it up later.

Rush sat back up, wincing. "I forgot about the adamantium," he conceded.

"Ah. Yes, I suppose it would be quite painful if one tried to take the Wolverine in hand-to-hand combat. I do recall recommending that you avoid such a feat."

Rush narrowed those bloodshot eyes at him. Erik tried not to laugh; he could crush the runt where he sat with barely a thought. How dare the upstart presume to believe he could threaten him?

"He said no. Like you said he would."

Erik raised an eyebrow. "And again, I am forced to recall warning you against asking him such an imbecile question. Or did I not warn you against that?"

Rush snorted and another bit of blood flew out of his nose and landed on the stone before him. He stared at it for a minute and then looked back at Erik. "We could use him, you said that."

"Yes, I suppose I did, as well as I said a number of things, and where the Wolverine is concerned, they all amounted to 'not a chance in Hell,' I believe were my exact words. Were they not, Mystique?"

She smiled in that supercilious fashion of hers he adored so greatly.

"Oh well, what's done is done," Erik mused. "What else happened?"

"Surge refused. I tried to bring her back but—"

"Ah." Erik leaned forward, scrutinizing the wounded fellow. "She electrocuted you, did she? There was that possibility."

Rush was glaring at him again. "She nearly killed me."

"But she did not, and I am certain she is sorry she did not. She has not the faint heart that her new friends have. She did not hesitate to kill one of ours before." Erik cast a glance at Mystique whose eyes revealed her fury over Pyro's murder. She did not grieve for the lad, only that one of theirs had been taken down so easily and under her watch. Erik had assured her that she was not to blame. Pyro was reckless and headstrong, not inclined to follow sensible orders. He had brought death upon himself. "And because she did not kill you, you felt you should go back and try your hand with the Wolverine. Stupid, very stupid."

"What about the girl?"

Erik frowned. "Which girl?"

"The one with the white streaks in her hair."

Erik and Mystique exchanged a knowing look. "Rogue?" he asked Rush.

"Yeah. Don't you want to know about her?"

Erik exhaled slowly through his nose, controlling his patience. This was taking entirely too long. "Is there something to know?" he asked in a patronizing tone.

"I asked her too."

Erik rolled his eyes and sighed. He looked to Mystique as if to ask her why she had let him employ such imbeciles who it seemed could not follow one single order correctly. She smirked and cut her dark eyes at their new boy.

Rush was listing to the left. Glass, a particularly useful mutant who could become invisible at will, nudged him back upright which seemed to jar the man out of whatever stupor or concussion he was dropping into.

"And?" Erik prompted.

Rush gave Erik with a wicked gleam. "There was something in her eyes. She would join us, if the offer was good enough."

Erik leaned back in his chair. He was surprised and yet not. He could not trust this idiot's judgment, for all he knew, it was the concussion that had caused the man to see "something" in her eyes, but he could not dismiss it either. From the mouths of babes, he had learned… "Well," he said. "I believe you have had quite the evening. That's enough for now. You can go, home or to the hospital, whichever you like."

Rush laughed a very dark laugh, but it was not nearly so good as his own, Erik thought. He waved a hand at Glass, who helped the pathetic specimen to his feet, and he and Mystique watched the two of them amble slowly out of the heart of his fortress. Mystique waited until they were definitely gone and then she came over and stood in front of his desk, eyeing him thoughtfully. He nodded. "I know, I know, my dear. We have got to find better help."

Mystique said nothing. She only smirked.

* * *

**All right. How's that for a change of pace? What does the audience think of those apples?**


	17. Chapter 17

**Seventeen**

Rogue made room for Scott in the backseat beside her. Two streets over, they had found Nell arguing with a newspaper vendor about whether or not the Java Room was a coffee house or a café. Scott was no longer driving. He had not been driving since he brought the car round to pick up Rogue and Logan, and he should have known Logan would have forced him into the passenger seat and taken the wheel. Now he was being forced into the back so that Nell could sit there.

Logan looked Nell up and down and then slid his button down off of his shoulders and handed it to her. She thanked him and slipped it on over the torn, dirty dress.

Rogue and Scott looked at each other. He was concerned, she could tell, for her, for Nell, for all of them, but it was his natural sort of concern. He was a good leader. Logan had said something to him when they first got back into the car, and while it only began to convey the situation to Scott, to Rogue it drove home the severity. _He'll use the kids_, Logan had said, and Rogue had struggled for a few minutes to even comprehend what he had meant or where he'd gotten the idea. So much had happened tonight that her thoughts were still in a whirlpool and she couldn't connect his suspicion to anything Rush had said, but she trusted it. Logan had one hell of a sense for trouble. His hunches were seldom wrong and he was thinking Erik would recruit for the Brotherhood from the school, steal the children right out from under them. He was right. Erik would have absolutely no qualms about such recruiting methods; she was only surprised he had never done so before, but maybe this meant the stakes were higher or the game was greater this time. Rush had mentioned an army, but if Erik already had one, what did he need the children for? But she knew the answer to that as well; Erik would steal the children simply because, because he believed his cause was true and because it would be a slap in the face to Charles Xavier. Still, there were other slaps to consider…

Rogue leaned back against the seat and watched the streets speed by. She knew one thing for certain. Erik would not have asked the Wolverine to join his team; he admired the destructive power the beast was capable of, but he saw him as no more than that, a beast, reckless and dangerous and not a soldier he could manipulate at will. So why had Rush asked that question?

She was another matter. Erik had attempted to use her before; that was exactly why she knew his mind so well, she had so much of him in there. But asking her to join his cause was a far cry from using her like a tool, and she thought, based on the man in her mind, that Erik was not so supreme about his mission nor simply so stupid as to ask a woman he had tried to kill quite recently to come over to his side.

_Quite right, my dear. Indeed, I am wiser than that. _

The children were her greatest fear now, that the evil mastermind would fool them, corrupt them, and lead them to their violent deaths. She could not let that happen.

_You are not listening to me, are you? Clearly, I have made some grievous errors in judgment regarding my recent choice of allies, but I am not such a stupid fellow that I would ever receive into my organization one whose character I had reason to doubt. Those I allow or enlist to work by my side _choose_ to do so. That is the only way to ensure they will not betray me and defect to your motley and rather pathetic—_

Point taken, she cut him off. All he had clarified was that he would not be kidnapping innocents to shanghai into his service, not that he wouldn't stoop to take any he could get.

_Who _have _you been associating with? Your idioms are getting positively out of hand. 'Shanghai?' Am I the Foreign Legion now? How insulting. No, I do not 'shanghai' anyone – well, I suppose I did something of the sort with you once, but I did not ask you to join me, I simply used your services, and I thought we had come to terms with that – where was I?_

You are a civilized madman, Rogue thought sarcastically.

_If there are children there who can be made to see the truth of our situation and therefore decide to follow my lead, so be it. As I understand it, Charles takes all sorts at that school of his, and there are copious mutants whose exceptional talents are being underdeveloped._

Underexploited?

_Well. there is no point in reasoning while you are in such a foul mood. If you require my help, you know where I will be._

He would be playing chess alone, turning the board so he could play both sides. The Wolverine knew how to play but would never have revealed this information to the bastard, and though Erik had taken to badgering St. John and Bobby into games earlier on in their tenancies, he was disappointed by their strategy; they couldn't even be taught to cheat well and since they were no challenge whatsoever to him, he had begun playing himself. This current game was a week old, and so far, neither the black nor the white had moved more than a couple of pawns and their bishops. Rogue was bored to death by the whole situation and had been dutifully ignoring it. Also, it did not help when she considered the whole matter and what it really said about her sanity so she felt better altogether if she paid it no attention.

The car slowed, jarring her thoughts and reminding her of the present. Logan was turning to pull up the main drive of the mansion. Her anxiety returned to her full flush and she looked to Scott again, but the man had just leaned forward to speak to Logan.

"I'll speak to the Professor alone first," he said.

"No," Logan argued. "We don't have time for blame. We go together."

Scott leaned back. "In that case, Storm should be there."

Logan visibly winced. Obviously, he was anticipating Storm's fury to be greater than Charles' condescension, and Rogue was inclined to agree. The Weather Witch was going to have a few choice words, for Logan and Scott in particular.

"Right," Logan said.

Rogue understood bringing in Storm. She was a senior member of the X-Team, but should they not invite the others? "What about Kurt?" she asked. "The others?"

Logan looked over his shoulder at Scott. Scott turned to Rogue and shook his head. "We'll bring them in, but not tonight, not for this meeting."

Good. That meant she didn't have to deal with Bobby's jealousy or worry over the latest mission he had not even been informed of. That left her to worry solely about Xavier's guilt trip and Storm's rage.

"I'm going to change first," Nell announced as Logan parked the car.

Scott cleared his throat. He took a deep breath. "Then I'll go get Storm," he said.

"I'll get her," Logan said. "It was my decision to leave her out, I'll fetch her."

"If you feel that way," Scott began.

Logan's sneer read 'chicken-shit' as clearly as if he'd said it aloud, but Scott wasn't looking at him, he was climbing out of the car behind Nell. Rogue thought Scott wouldn't have been so quick to give up Storm's fury if he'd realized that left him to be the first to greet Charles, but as he straightened and gave her a hand out of the backseat, he looked at her solemnly and asked, "Ready to talk to the Professor?"

Rogue eyed his bare hand and waited for him to realize and step back, but he only lifted his eyebrows in question, and Rogue swallowed. Logan and Nell had already disappeared to their respective tasks. She and Scott were alone in the garage. She concentrated and reached for his hand, but she had not held on long when she felt the pull and released his hand so quickly that she nearly fell back into the seat. Scott caught her round the waist and righted her and they both looked at each other, her with an air of defeat and him with a kind of sheepish apology.

After a moment, he reached around and shut the car door. "It's been a long night. We'll try again some other time."

Rogue stared at him, but he only looked at her as if daring her to challenge him, and then he gestured toward the main part of the building. Rogue took the lead and Scott followed beside her, and together they walked slowly but determinedly up to Xavier's office, and the last thing she thought, before he knocked on the door, was: _there is a strength in numbers_.

**

* * *

Storm wasn't in her room. Nearly as soon as he reached the main floor, Logan detected her scent in the rec room. She was standing by the bay windows, talking to one of the younger female students and as soon as Logan stepped inside the room and cleared his throat, her eyes fell on his with a cat-like vigilance. She excused herself from her conversation, walked up to Logan in the doorway, and whispered, "What the hell is going on? Where have you been? Where is Scott? How dare you sneak around behind my back?"**

The whole while she was berating him with questions, he was backing out into the foyer, pulling the door shut behind her, and when they stood alone in the hallway, he reached one arm around her back and put one large hand over her mouth. She fell silent, but her eyes were still yelling at him.

"Magneto's back in business," he told her.

Storm's whole body tensed and Logan released her. "You're certain?" she asked.

"He sent one of his lackeys after Nell. Name of Rush. You wanna' guess what he can do?" Logan put his hands on his hips and glanced up at the stairs, watching for Nell's return. She was still new to their world; he didn't want to leave her alone too long in it. If his hunches were right, she had spent too much time alone over the years, and he knew all about that. On the other hand, she probably felt no guilt about this secret mission. She was not formally allied to the Professor to the X-Men. There was a sort of justified righteousness to most of the things she did.

"She's all right?" The concern in Storm's eyes was real.

Logan nodded. "She's fine. Ruined a pretty dress, but I think I paid the son-of-a-bitch back for that one. "Cyclops and Rogue should be in the Professor's office. I came to get you."

"Good," Storm said, and she slapped him across the face.

It was only a glancing blow – apparently Storm did not so easily forget he had a metal skeleton scarcely beneath the surface – but it stung. He rubbed his cheek and raised an eyebrow. "Feel better?"

"Yes," she answered, her own eyebrows up in a look of satisfied hauteur. "How dare you—"

Footsteps on the stairs made them both turn and look up. Nell came quickly down the stairs, dressed now in a plain sweater, jeans, and boots, and she still looked amazing. She and Storm met eyes and Storm frowned. "You missed a spot."

"Hmm?" Nell looked down over her clothes.

"There's blood on your neck, just under your chin," Storm explained.

Logan had seen it too, but it was all dried. Any wounds Nell had sustained had healed moments after they were opened. Any ordinary woman – mutant or not – would have died instantly. He had not had a chance to ask Nell how bad it was, but he got the impression she would consider such worries coddling and so he intended to keep his mouth shut. She was a hardass and she didn't seem to like anyone paying too much attention to her when, after all, she would heal.

"I'll get a shower later," Nell said. "It's not important now."

The expression on Storm's face clearly showed that she felt otherwise, and he would have hated to see her reaction if she'd gotten a look at Nell's dress before she changed. Storm looked back at him. "I don't suppose you have any lasting damage either?"

Logan grinned. "No, but I did some."

Storm laughed a little and shook her head, but her eyes kept flicking back to Nell's neck with a worried look and he knew the only reason she had been capable of slapping him was because he healed…and well, probably also because he was him. When he nodded toward the hall, Storm turned and led the way down the hall and around to Xavier's office.

The door was ajar there and Logan could hear voices long before they came abreast of the entrance. Charles was fuming, but they had expected no less.

"…ridiculous, not to mention dangerous. And you, of all of them, whom I trusted the most to be sensible, to protect them, _you_ lead them straight into the lion's den. I thought better of you. Clearly I was mistaken. Surge is not even a member of this team. To endanger her and Rogue here, new as she is, to be so irresponsible—"

"Someone had to act," Marie interrupted, and there was a cold evenness to her voice that irked Logan, that gave his neck an involuntary jerk. "You weren't going to."

This comment must have stunned Charles, for it was only as the three of them entered the office a few seconds later, when the man found words again. "No, Rogue, I prefer to think before I act."

Storm preceded Logan and Nell, and Logan let the door shut with a little more slam than was necessary as he came in and took up a place beside Marie, his arms crossed and his feet planted wide. He looked across the room at Cyclops who was standing nearest Xavier's desk and who straightened a bit as reinforcements arrived. Nell and Storm appeared to be the only ones who didn't feel the need to be defensive or defiant, sitting calmly beside each other on the sofa, but there was something in the way that they crossed their arms and their legs in perfect syncopation that made them seem a little threatening.

Everyone was silent for a moment. Xavier's eyes traveled around the room, examining each of them in turn, and when he had looked at all of them, he looked back to Storm. "It appears we are not good enough to be kept informed."

Storm held his gaze for a moment and then shook her head. "This is not about us."

Xavier was taken aback. His eyes flashed and his shoulders dropped minutely. He was outmanned and outgunned and the indignation was spreading across his face like neon writing. He and Storm continued to stare at one another, and he must have been reading her mind because after a moment he calmed, the lightning left his eyes and the ice left Storm's. She had always been one to stand her ground and fight, and sometimes Logan had begrudged her mercy, but it was what made her better than them, he saw, because she was standing on a higher ground.

The mental battle over, her face turned to Scott with the worry back in her eyes. "I want to know what we're dealing with."

Xavier eyes followed hers lately; he was obviously not completely pacified. Maybe he too could not always bear Storm's idealism – not that he was anyone to judge her for it – or maybe he just couldn't handle having his authority undermined. He sniffed and regarded Cyclops. "Well?"

Nell's voice filled the room with oppressive power. "Are you finished?" she asked Xavier, and Logan was not the only one who turned to stare.

"I beg your pardon?" Xavier drawled.

"You should beg his. This is beyond you now," she said, glancing around the room in a way that clarified the second 'you' was plural. "This isn't about rank or insulted pride. Your old chum has an army he plans to enlarge by plucking young, impressionable minds right out from under you, and all you can do is sulk because you were out of the loop?"

"You are new here. Perhaps you do not understand the need for order and preparation, for letting past experience—"

"I've got three centuries of past experience on you. I'm not telling you how to govern this little militia you have here. All I'm doing is asking you to leave off scolding your men long enough for them to report, lest the next battle come while you're still editorializing."

She must have felt Storm's comment had failed to get the point across. Nell had certainly ensured no one would miss it the second time around. She and Xavier glared magisterially at each other for a long moment. Logan watched them, and he had the uncanny impression that they had ceased bickering out loud only because they were now bickering telepathically. Whatever they were saying – or thinking – Xavier finally pursed his lips and turned away from Nell to regard Scott once again, but he was obviously not done being wounded or indignant. Nell must have registered the fear the others had of his disapproval, because she had none.

"You were about to say?" Xavier said.

"I think Nell just mentioned the most important part. We have reason to believe that Magneto has plans to recruit the children from this school." Scott looked to Logan. "We also know he's recruited several new mutants to the Brotherhood. The one we dealt with this evening is known as Rush. He can move faster than the speed of light, if I'm any judge."

Xavier frowned. Worry began to seep into his expression.

"Don't get too worked up. He may not live through the night," Logan said, recalling the condition Rush was in when the mutant escaped.

Xavier frowned further. "What happened?"

"He had a bad shock," Nell said, smiling like a cat.

"And you find that amusing, do you? Nearly killing a man?"

Nell's eyes narrowed fearsomely, but whatever smart-assed comment she'd been about to deliver was abandoned. She simply cocked her head to one side and held the Professor's gaze. "When he tries to kidnap me and threatens my life, remorse isn't usually my first reaction."

"He could not have killed you," Xavier said dismissively, carelessly.

"So she's expendable?" Logan demanded. He raised an eyebrow and watched the Professor in his grand hauteur behind that desk.

"She was never in any real danger," Xavier went on. "Unlike Cyclops and Rogue." He warmed to his theme, his eyes darting between Logan and Nell. "You two are reckless and foolhardy. Simply because _you're_ invulnerable is no excuse to drag others into deadly situations. And you still have not explained to me how you came to encounter this mutant in the first place. Did you go looking for Magneto and his allies?"

That condescending tone was getting a little old. Logan stepped forward. That was enough. They were not children; even Marie had proven herself capable and worthy of her place on that mission, and she beat him to the punch.

"Erik is going to come here," she said in a cold, hard voice. "You can keep on working to convince yourself otherwise, but it won't do you any good, and it will only endanger this school. Mystique could come in here and do unbelievable damage and you're yelling at the only two people who could sniff her out in her sheep's clothing."

"Erik will not come here. He would not—"

"He doesn't have to," Marie said. "He will send the Brotherhood here. You know he has done it before. He will send Mystique and whatever enemies we have not yet met, and he will steal them out from under us."

She held herself like a soldier and he was further reminded that this was not the same timid Marie who had climbed out of the car. He wanted to believe she could be like this – stoic, strong, stubborn – if she only felt herself in the right, but he could not forget there were others in her head, that she had given them a voice before. There was a note in her voice now, a temperature, that did not bode well for own control.

"Have you forgotten what he is capable of?" she went on.

This was not his Marie. She was ruthless and exacting. Somewhere along the way, she had learned how to fight, how to use the proper pressure points to match the situation. She was nearing cruelty, and if there was one thing he had always worked for, it was to be the beast so she would not have to. He had enough weight on his soul; a little more would not break the scale.

He stepped forward and looked at her long and hard over his shoulder. It was about time he took charge of the situation before every damned one of them let their emotions run havoc. He wasn't emotional; he was instinct.

"This Rush kid, he said something about an army." Logan spoke to the room but he kept his eyes level on Xavier's. "He's planning something bigger than us."

Xavier took a deep breath and nodded. His eyes grew tired, his shoulders haggard. He glanced about the room, his gaze lingering on his lieutenants, on Storm, on Cyclops, before it came back to Logan. When he finally spoke, the words came out stronger than Logan expected. "Something must be done," he said shortly, and then more quietly, "I need some time…some time to think."

They took it as their dismissal. Nell mouthed _shower_ as she passed him, and as Marie passed, the scent of fear was gone. He followed behind Storm and Cyclops and the two of them stopped as one as soon as he'd shut the office door.

"No matter what he says," Cyclops began, "we're together on this."

Logan nodded. "Good."

"That means no running off to do it your way," Storm clarified.

"Fine," Logan said. "I'll take first watch."


	18. Chapter 18

**Eighteen**

The water ran pink with blood, but only for a moment. Nell had underestimated her injuries, and now the night was slowing down, the pictures and sounds moving by at a pace whereby she could discern them. Or was she only now letting herself absorb them? That son-of-a-bitch had dropped her in front of a semi. He could not have been hit himself or he would not have been able to dash off. How severe were his injuries then? Would he try again?

Honestly, he should have been dead, if she were not exaggerating her strike, if he did not seek medical attention. The charge she gave him should have fried several internal organs beyond repair.

Who would he come after if he lived? Rush was young, impetuous, brash. He was the kind of runt that could foul up any general's battle strategy with his own conceit and bravado. If he didn't grow up and he didn't die, Erik would not keep him for long. Erik might have been at times desperate in his choice of associates, or even overly focused on mutation instead of brains, but he was never stupid. He would certainly have kept other allies secret and he would use them in time, if he did not simply fall back on Mystique, but Rush was the issue now, the loose bullet ricocheting in the room. There was no telling where he would land. She was a damned idiot for ever letting him out of her sight but she would have sworn she'd killed him. She had certainly intended to.

Did the others realize how much they had lost in one night? Yes, she supposed they were still ahead in that they knew of the plan, of Erik's recruitment, but they had lost the only window they had for gaining information and if Rush lived, there was no telling what intelligence he had passed back to Erik. There was no chance of sneak attack now, no subtlety to rely on. The only thing to do was to go looking for trouble before it came back around on them. The time had come to stop moving the pawns and bring out the Queen. She had never been a great fan of chess – there were more productive ways she would rather spend her time – but she had learned that although the King won or lost the game, the one you held onto for dear life was your Queen. The bishops and rooks and knights had their purposes, they all moved in their own useful fashions, but the Queen was the crux of the matter.

The clock was nearing midnight. Nell put out the light and peered out of the window, surprised at the amount of light playing across the courtyard, the globe lights strung along like a Victorian London street. The effect was deceptive, the way the light softened the edges of the stonework and the night itself. Night was not so gentle as artificial light made it appear. There was a reason they called it the witching hour.

She considered packing, but it would only weigh her down and impede her progress. The clothes on her back, the boots on her feet, the fire in her veins – these were enough to sustain her. She knew where to start, what scent to track. Rush would hardly have left much for her to follow, but she knew the smell that clung to his skin, that of steel, and she knew that though he could cover distance quickly, he could not have run all the way back to whatever hole Erik was hiding in. And there was the matter of Mystique; her scent was never difficult to follow, if one could only get a hit on it.

Nell was not keen on stealing a car from the X-Men. The lot of them had flashy, shiny new things that were all plastic and frills. She wanted her damned jeep back and not just because the damned thing had lasted her for thirty years but because it had been hers for thirty years. She'd grown attached.

She could always borrow one and leave it behind not far from the mansion, use it simply to get out of the fortress – if you could even call this nursery that – and then find something more nonchalant, something that was less likely to announce: "Hi, I'm an X-Man."

In the end, though, it seemed that getting out of the mansion unnoticed was a nice dream. She had not forgotten Logan, but she had either overestimated her own gift at sneaking around or underestimated him. He was waiting in the shadow in the shadow of the house when she swung out of her window and dropped to the ground. The sight of him – naively unanticipated – gave her just enough of a startle to lose her balance and send her bottom to collide painfully with the ground. He made no move to catch her or help her up, but stood like a stone sentinel in the shadow, arms crossed over that broad chest in that infernal way of his.

She cursed under her breath.

Logan grinned. "You didn't have to sneak out to take over the watch."

Nell stood up and dusted her butt off. She gave him eyebrow for eyebrow.

"Don't get your panties in a twist."

"We talked about this," Nell began. She was the only one of the two of them who could put Erik down like the rabid animal he was.

"No. We didn't," Logan said, coming out into the light. "And we need to."

She waited. Was he going to try to persuade her to stay for another reason? For him?

"You know you didn't kill Rush."

Nell breathed through her nose. "I tried."

"I mean, he got away."

"I did the best I could. I don't understand how the hell he survived that. Any normal person and he—"

"You ain't the only one who tried. He looked like shit when he left, but he left. He was spitting up blood and he didn't look like he was long for this world, but _he left_," Logan said slowly. So he had come to the same conclusion she had, that Rush was more of a threat because there was no telling what he had managed to convey to his lieutenant.

"How much like shit?"

"If he survives it, he's hiding more than we realized."

"He's not going to," Nell promised.

Logan shook his head. "You're not leaving."

"Why not?"

"Because I want you by my side. I want to trust that you'll do whatever it takes to protect them. Like I will."

She almost smiled. From what she understood, this was a serious concession on the Wolverine's part, and a serious transformation, that these children were his first obligation, that protection was more important to him than offense. But he was a front line all by himself, one that could withstand several battering rams.

"I could end this," she offered. "I could remove the threat."

There was a long pause and a sandstorm raged in his eyes. What was he thinking? Did he not want her to be that vicious? Did it bother him to be caged, to be the one who could not finish it? Did he truly prefer her as a second rather than an assassin, even if she could settle this all in a matter of days? His face changed several times. She watched the emotions ride across it like wild horses.

Something had hardened in his eyes when he finally spoke. Something had solidified in him. He had made a choice. "Who would we fight then?" he asked and a gleam sparkled in his eyes. There was the ghost of a grin spreading across that jaw.

There would always be someone to fight, she knew, but she knew as well that sometimes when you removed the greater enemy, you were then plagued by all the young upstarts seeking to claim his throne. Better the devil you knew, right?

She tried not to, but she found herself grinning too. In a sense, he was asking her to be an ally, but in another sense, he was asking her to stay in the best manner he could manage.

"What's the plan then?"

"Don't know yet, but you're part of it."

She nodded. "All right. You good here?"

"Why?"

"It's a big school. I'll patrol the floors if you want to prowl the grounds."

He chuckled and grabbed her arms, pulling her in for a knee-weakening kiss. When he let her go and strolled off, he called over his shoulder, "That's to keep you awake."

* * *

Mystique reported to him at dawn. Rush had perished in the night. For all his usual speed, he had taken quite a while to die. Erik had to give the man some credit for holding out that long with such devastating injuries, but it was also a futile and useless expense of energy and pain to fight that long when Death was standing over you with his clipboard, waiting.

So they were down one soldier. There were others where he had come from, and though their gifts might not have been so impressive, they were all useful in their own ways. Glass was upset, Mystique informed him. She had explained that Glass had become somewhat close to the speed demon. Mystique was not so easily won over and she did not seem the least troubled over this one's death. Strange, that; she had rather taken to Pyro.

Erik reviewed the papers before him. Mystique had always been very capable when it came to discovering interesting mutants. Some of her latest marvels included a water-morphing mutant, a fairly powerful psychic – but nothing compared to his old friend – a strong man, and a mutant who could generate impressive and powerful sound waves. None of these leads had been pursued, only made evident. He could send one of his soldiers to pursue them, but that had failed miserably on the last few attempts. That was always the trouble when he wanted something done well; he knew he would have to see to it.

Would it do any good to set a spy on the mansion or would he simply come back in claw-sized strips? There was no sense in wasting further time or energy on Surge since her choice was deathly obvious, but there was the matter of Rogue. Had Rush imagined the question in the girl's eyes? Erik could not honestly see the child's allegiance wavering, not considering what he had tried to do to her, and so if there had been any question in her eyes it had probably only concerned how she might be able to get close enough to kill him. He would not make that mistake. No matter how powerful Rogue's gift, it was not worth his untimely demise.

"Mystique," he called to the mutant where she stood gazing out of the window. "Care to take a little trip?"

She turned slightly. "Which one?" she asked.

"You're going to make me choose?" he asked in false astonishment. "I thought they all had potential, their mutations at least. We'll have to see about their heads, won't we?"

She crossed the room and leaned over his desk, tapping one of the pictures, the one she had labeled 'Lena Petrovsky.' "She's impressive," Mystique said meaningfully.

"And she can transform into water at will, you say?"

"There's more." Mystique slid her finger over to the data sheet he had skimmed. There was a line at the bottom that Mystique had obviously scrawled in some excitement: _can harness the water around her and manipulate it._

"Well," Erik said.

Mystique smiled.

"I think we're about to be flooded with useful recruits, don't you, my dear?"

The cat-like smile twitched.

* * *

Scott did not sleep. He was tired but could not shut off the frantic barrage of thoughts and questions careening around the circuits in his brain. He had been worried about enemies before, Magneto specifically more than once, but there was something about the looks that he had seen take root on Logan's and Nell's faces that warned him he had not seen anything yet, that everything else had been batting practice compared to the game ahead. If Logan was scared – and Scott knew the look, he had seen it in Logan's eyes for Rogue – then there was a reason to be terrified.

He needed Jean. He had needed her every moment since she had left them, had craved her and missed her and loved her, but right now, he needed her. He needed her heart and her sense and her strength. He needed someone to hold him together on the inside because he was slouching toward Bethlehem and he was not sure he would be able to pull himself back from where he was going. He had lost Jean. He was not going to lose anyone else.

He understood what Logan had been trying to find in him, what neither of them had believed was there, but he had found it. The hard part of him, the part of him that was capable of taking it to the limit and beyond, it was in him, and all it took to free this ruthlessness was fear – no, not fear, terror, pure terror. He worried for the children, yes. He did not want Magneto to take the children and turn them to his dark army, but what he feared more was what that army could do, what Magneto's vision of earth would entail. He was the kind of man who could easily imagine himself as a god and he would remake the world in his design. There would be resistance. There would be war. There would be a holocaust. Surely Magneto must see the parallel, he must, he lived through one himself, but he was fanatical, so wrapped up in his own visions that he didn't realize he'd become blind to the past.

Scott would not let Magneto remake the world. Civilization may not have been at its pinnacle, but it was striving. Every day people were working to make it a better place, to be better than they thought they could be, and Magneto would ruin that. Scott himself was part of the experiment, one of the tiny pieces of the whole trying to keep the great machine running, and he was not ready to quit yet. For a while, he had crawled inside himself, inside his tiny room, and contemplated it, conceding, quitting, giving up, but if the universe had wanted him to do so, it would not have thrown this new boulder in his path to be climbed. He had been reminded that there were things left here bigger than him. Jean was gone, but he was alive and if he wanted to honor what she had done for them all, he was not going to do it by quitting.

He had been planning since the meeting, since that chaos in Charles's office, forcing himself not to dwell on the sense that he was committing treason simply by disobeying the Professor's wishes. He had to remember what Storm had articulated first, that this was not about them, but about the future. They were the last line and only line between Magneto's army and what might be the end of the world.

Simple defense was no longer an option. They could no longer wait around for Magneto to launch an attack, on them or anyone else. They would have to begin their own strikes, plan their own sieges, and go for the heart. And that was what Logan was hinting at and had edged away from, that the time had come to take Magneto out of the picture, not simply incapacitate him.

Scott eyed the papers strewn across his bedroom floor. His handwriting spread across the room in ragged scrawls. He often could not write as fast as the thoughts flew at him, but he had tried to capture the ideas before they disappeared. The whole plan was rather complicated, including contingencies and alternatives, but the end was simple. In the end, the solution was outlined clearly and in a neater script: _Mystique dies. Magneto dies. _

He sat back, leaning against an armchair, his long legs sprawled out in front of him, and his eyes fell on Jean's photograph. Would she have been capable of this evil? Would she have believed him capable? She was a good woman. What they used to have in common was that they did whatever it took to keep people from crossing this very line, to hold back the edge. She could be a martyr, but she could never be a killer.

Scott pushed himself to his feet. He scooped the random sheets up and shuffled them, laying them in a neat pile on the desk. The hurricane in his mind seemed to be breaking up, weakening as it moved too far from the water. He went over to the dresser and gazed on Jean's picture, the only one left in the room, the only one he had left out in his torment to remind him of her sacrifice. He took a deep breath. She was too good for this. Scott reached out and picked up the frame, swallowed, and turned it on its face.

Wind rattled the window frame. The room grew a little colder.

He went to the door. He had a war to go to.

But on the other side of the door he did not find the empty hallway he had expected at three in the morning, he found Rogue.

* * *

**Feel like giving me some input?**


	19. Chapter 19

**Nineteen**

Rogue did not sleep. She was consoled in the fact that, among those who had endured the night alongside her, no one else slept either. Storm might have been sleeping, but she had not really been there, had not seen the madness in Rush's eyes or seen the damage done to Nell. All the woman's healing could not hide the tattered dress and the blood that dried so thick in patches it had looked like war paint. Of the people who were there, none were sleeping. She had sensed rather than heard the catlike patrolling of Nell circuiting the hallways, and knew that Logan would not be far off, doing the same in his own fashion.

Scott was muttering quietly to himself in his room. She waited until the talking stopped, and then she waited some more, working up the nerve to knock on his door in the middle of the night. She suspected he was planning, being the fearless leader he was so naturally adept at, and it was all for nothing without one important point.

She had thought of it somewhere between the car and the Professor's office, between the fear and the numbness: Erik already had a plan. They were all too focused on the parts of his plan, the possibility that it would include the children, that they had forgotten plans had ends, and the children would only be a means to an end they had all overlooked. If they focused too long on the trees, she knew, they might forget that there was a whole forest out there, and no telling what lie on the opposite edge.

Scott flinched when he opened the door and found her there. She had to step back to keep him from barreling into her and he caught the doorframe and swung out a little into the hall. The shock seemed to jar him out of some trance, but not entirely. He stared at her.

"Rogue?"

"We need to talk. About Erik."

Scott took a deep breath. There was a hollowness about his eyes. Now that she had adjusted to seeing them, she could read tomes in them. He had all the shadows and slouch of a desperate man.

"I think we've all forgotten something important," she said slowly, because the last time he had looked like this he had crawled into a bottle of sedatives and set up housekeeping. "He has a plan. Recruiting is just a part of the plan."

"You don't think we should act?" he asked just as slowly, as if struggling to wrap his brain around the concept.

Rogue sighed. "I think we'd be pretty dumb if we did. He's not the Marines, Scott. He's not recruiting just to recruit. He's planning something, something that requires an army."

Scott exhaled and his body fell against the doorframe which creaked slightly under his weight. "I don't know. If we wait—"

"That's not what I'm saying. But we can't just go haring off and attacking if we don't know the bigger plan. We may be part of it." She bit her lip. The last bit scared her more than she wanted to admit to herself, wherever she was in the chaos of her mind, but she knew it to be true as well as she knew the various voices that mingled with her own. She lived with the enemy in her head and she had come to know him well. He thought eight moves ahead.

Scott's impression of a zombie was holding out strong. Rogue reached out a gloved hand and squeezed his arm. "This is important."

He turned his face and looked at her, a long, appraising gaze, a thoughtful gaze. "What are you thinking?"

She shrugged. "I don't know what he's planning." She gave a small smile. "I only know what he's planned in the past. I think this part is a job for the Professor."

They exchanged a hesitant glance, almost comforting in its familiarity. Hours ago as they walked together to the Professor's office, they had shared this sort of dread. Storm and Nell may have put into words the truth, but there was a deep-seated, ingrained sense of subordination among the X-Men. Rogue had it easier than Scott. For one, she had not been with the Professor as long. Indeed, her first and undying loyalty was bent on Logan. Also, she had the Wolverine and Erik and Pyro rattling about in her head, and none of them were all that keen on authority, except for Erik who believed he was it. The only parts of her that feared the wrath and disapproval of the Professor were Marie – whatever that meant – and Bobby, and he didn't amount to much anymore. Scott's touch had left no more than a thought.

After a long silence, Scott spoke. "He hasn't been able to use Cerebro on Magneto before."

"He'll think of something," Rogue said. There was always Mystique. She had the sense that the only reason the Professor had not tried to go through Mystique to get to Erik was a sense of fair play and chivalry, and she had none of that nonsense holding her back. She would be happy to go _through _Mystique. Having the Wolverine in her head may have given her a strange attraction to Jean Grey, but Erik's presence did nothing to improve her opinion of Mystique. She supposed it was the way the two of them had been so at ease trying to kill her.

"You did well tonight," Scott said suddenly. "It's not the kind of situation where we remember to applaud each other, but you did well. Under weird circumstances. You worked well under pressure."

She tried not to blush. Not often did anyone bother to compliment her. "It was an interesting mission," she conceded.

Scott chuckled. "It was definitely unique. But you did well." He sobered. "What happened after I left to get the car? Exactly?"

How could she put those few minutes into coherent sentences? A man that looked like a corpse had tried to fight the Wolverine. Mention was made of armies. A stupid man had asked her to join the Brotherhood, had had the idiocy to ask both her and the Wolverine to join the very cause they loathed with all their beings. She settled for simpler phrasing. "He came back, looking half dead, and asked us to join the Brotherhood. And Logan beat the crap out of him."

"But he got away?"

In all honesty, Rogue had not seen very much death, but she had been at its door a couple of times now and she thought she recognized the signs. She had a flash of Pyro's still face in her mind. She took that life to save her own and protect those she _loved_. Mutants more powerful than her had failed to land killing blows on Rush. Well, they had failed to do immediately fatal damage. There had been a yellow hue to the man's eyes in that last battle, and the blood he kept spitting up was thick and clotting.

Scott reached out a hand and patted her shoulder. "Nevermind. You should try to get some sleep."

"It's a nice thought."

"You want to try again?" Scott held up his hand. "Maybe the strain will tire you out."

She gave a soft laugh. "What about you?"

"I can't control mine."

Rogue frowned. He knew she had not meant that and she believed, in a way she would not have only weeks ago, that he was possibly wrong. If she could learn to control her mutation, then any of them should. She had extra help; that was all. She had voices in her head, telling her how to do it. Thank God she wasn't testifying in front of the court with that explanation.

But there was a determination in Scott, in the way he held his body that did not invite argument, that proclaimed loudly and clearly he was not going to try. They were both deadly. He deserved this gift as much as she did, but at least he had touch.

She slid the glove from her right hand and held it out to meet Scott's. For a second, their hands hovered so close she could feel the heat but not the skin, and then he seized her hand and wove his fingers between hers, and all her thoughts became highly focused.

This was not the same as stretching fire or twisting metal. Each mutation had a different feel to it as she manipulated it, and her own felt strange simply in its novelty, in that she had only once been able to control it. This was not the same as the ache and funny sensation of using a muscle you had never used before. This was like a whole section of her brain flaring up, waking. Sensations spread out, pulsing down the nerves in her body. Thoughts, images, and feelings flashed through her mind, vivid one moment and ghostly the next. She concentrated on holding one piece of herself back and whole other parts flowed freely out, washing over her in waves.

She could feel Scott's hand against hers, and if she focused hard enough, feel how large it was, feel his heartbeat, feel the calluses.

But she saw soldiers, lines of them stretching out in the snow, and grey, dismal alleys full of beggars and children, cities she did not recognize, completely alien landscapes. In more than one flash, she saw herself, saw visions of herself through what must have been Wolverine's eyes because she remembered those moments and the pure terror they carried with them. The memories swarmed inside her. She felt that if she only knew how, if she knew how and wanted to, she could expel them and leave her mind a little more peaceful.

She saw herself, still, pale, limp in his arms. She was _him_.

She was dead. She was dead. He had been too late. No! She wasn't dead. She was his responsibility. He was the reason for all of this. She could not die because of him.

He closed his eyes. He had failed. How long had it been since he buried anyone? How long since he had loved someone? He loved her, this little girl, not because he wanted to but because he couldn't stop it. Every chance she had, every future – she was gone.

Marie.

He could not remember other names. He could not pictures faces. But he knew there were too many, that he had loved and lost and buried too many. He kissed her forehead and held her against him. He'd failed.

And then there was pain.

"Rogue! Rogue!"

There was something about the way Scott called her name that told her he had been doing it for a while. Her eyes focused on him and she dropped his hand like a snake.

"Rogue?"

Her face was hot and wet. She wiped tears from her cheeks.

"What happened? Did I hurt you?" he asked.

She shook her head, madly, fiercely. She stumbled back as he reached for her. He could not understand. He would not understand. Those were her memories now. They had never been more than bits and broken pieces in her dreams. They had never been _real_, even though she lived through them, because they were _his_.

"What is wrong, Rogue?"

She stopped and held up her bare hand in a gesture between them, a signal and also a threat. Scott froze where he was and a hint of injury passed over his face, but was replaced again with worry. Rogue shook her head. "Did I hurt you?" she asked.

He was upright and speaking and didn't seem to even be short of breath, but she had to ask. He nodded. "I'm fine. I never felt a thing," he said in a quiet, thoughtful voice. "What did you feel?"

She looked down at her hand. She was lightheaded and dizzy, her brain still abuzz from that new sensation, and she could not reach those memories now, they were just a breath too far away, but she knew things. Suspicion and presumption were replaced with ground-shaking clarity and bone-chilling certainty. She knew exactly where the well was now and she knew how to lower the bucket and pull from the well. She knew there were depths she did not want to disturb and she knew there shadows lodged there just waiting to be freed.

She met Scott's eyes. "Everything," she whispered.

He tried again to touch her, to comfort her, she supposed, but either she would hurt him or she would try not to and free God only knew what else from the mines of her mind. She took another faltering step back. "You were right," she said. "I'm tired."

The hurt was evident now, the slight. He was trying not to frown.

There was Marie. Rogue hardly recognized herself. She hated to see suffering. She hated the guilt she felt right now. Scott had only wanted to help her.

"I can't talk about it yet," she said. Her voice shook. She gained control of it and stood up as straight as she could manage. "I…Maybe later. I need to think."

His face softened. He nodded once. "You know how to find me."

Rogue said nothing. She didn't even nod. She simply left and walked quickly and carefully and with a driven direction back to her room. The bed welcomed her with a soft creak and she fell asleep almost immediately. Even in the whirling tempest of her thoughts, her body could not fight exhaustion.

And she dreamed.

* * *

People were remarkably malleable, especially the younger ones, but also the older ones. Take a poor soul who had been living in poverty and oppression and offer him the world – or at least a small section of it – and you were hard pressed to find a chap who didn't clamber for the opportunity. And ever since the Church began to fall into disfavor, or rather since families began to fall apart and the people simply quit going and the other factors that led to a general waning of faith, the masses weren't so worried about eternal damnation and their souls in the long run. No, today, with modern society, the masses were much more concerned with the short run, immediate gratification and delayed suffering.

The ranks of the Brotherhood had grown impressively in the last few weeks, and gained a few pearls within the course of a single day. Erik rather thought he was outdoing the Marines, and the benefits he offered were certainly an improvement. Unlike your average evil genius, he was not sitting comfortably, idling watching his masses rank, or admiring the view of hundreds of them toiling on some drudgery, he was alone in his fortressed chambers, enjoying a game of chess with himself, and plotting.

Only a select few resided with him and Mystique. There was no sense in drawing attention to a good hiding place by having a hundred people in and out at all hours of the day. The Brotherhood lived in their same old houses and apartments and alleys, and they carried on with their old jobs, only occasionally performing chores for him and for their cause, but always on the alert. He had several associates now in the government, not the upper levels he would have preferred, but then the bureaucratic bastards had become quite paranoid about allowing mutants to ascend into those levels. He had a couple fellows in the banking industry who were quite adept at inconspicuously routing funds in the direction of the Brotherhood and eliminating the trail between them. And, of course, he had several soldiers who were simply large and capable of doing vast damage in short work.

He eliminated a white rook and turned the chessboard. He was bored.

He had an intricately developed plan. For the long term. He had his sights on several powerful mutants who would be great allies to the cause, he had his eye on the papers Congress thought they were silently easing up through the proper channels, he even had a few associates whose sole duties were to locate, monitor, and dispatch of anyone who might try to usurp his position, but he was bored. And he had been increasingly reminded of a mission gone awry and the mess left in its wake.

He never should have sent Pyro to collect Surge, sent a boy to do a man's job, and now he was down two agents, two agents with impressive and uncommon abilities. Surge, he knew, had not a scar to show for _his_ troubles, and yet she would have been worth it, had she come. He didn't suppose there was any chance of that now. He knew the type, the ones who would rather avoid the fight but turned out to be the best warriors because deep down their hearts were in it for the "greater good." What a lot of silly fools! Still he would much rather fight those who believed in what they were fighting for; that was what made the battle matter: conviction. Charles and his X-Men, those sanctimonious and naïve little prats may have been prats, but they were worth fighting. Those blokes in the government simply believed everyone else was wrong. It wasn't the same thing.

None of this meant he was above stealing from his nemesis' ranks, however. When you had a man who believed deep down there was a heart to the matter, you had a chance of turning his heart. It was like chess; the right execution of moves, the appropriate removal of pieces, and your opponent's perception could be irrevocably altered. Suddenly he is prepared to make moves he has never considered before. Suddenly his tactics are not so high and mighty.

Only in this case, in the unique case of the X-Men, the older ones were not so impressionable. They had a certain die-hard loyalty about them that rather eliminated any chances of attracting their sympathies to his cause. No, the children were much better targets and young enough to be appropriately educated, or re-educated if necessary. Mystique had kept him informed on several promising young mutants in Charles' care, mostly through her tremendous computer savvy, at his own request. She was an incredibly capable agent, but ever since the military forced their way into Charles' mansion, he had been hesitant to allow her to re-enter it in any guise. Wolverine had come too close to crushing his pearl once before and he was the rabid dog that prowled the mansion.

But Erik needed something, something to do, to keep his mind busy. He thought he would like a protégé. Even more so, he wanted to make a ripple, not even a wave, simply a ripple, to show Charles how widespread his influence was and how far his power reached.

He summoned Mystique. The Brotherhood was not in the nature of recruiting children. The emotions of adults were hard enough to navigate. He needed something close to a child, old enough to be manipulative and young enough to be a student. Mystique contemplated the question for a while. Both of them conducted mental searches of their ranks. Mystique offered a name first.

She chose a lovely specimen. Erik nodded.

And it was done. By morning, Charles would receive a phone call from frantic parents wondering what could be done for their child.

He was about to turn back to his chessboard when Mystique returned. He had not realized how late the hour, but he followed her into the bedroom, and left the ivory to itself.

* * *

Sometime before dawn, Logan passed Jean's memorial and paused. He had lost more faith than he'd ever had and he had never believed in paying respect to dirt and stone, but until now he had avoided the spot, had never actually cast his eyes closely on the tribute. He admired the simplicity of it. Jean would have liked it.

He worked to put himself in a frame of mind where he could see her face and not relive those last moments. He still loved her. She was the kind of woman who demanded it, who you could not let go simply because she was gone. He wasn't sure he'd even still be here if she had lived. She chose Scott and he left it alone.

Although Logan had Marie and the curious obligation and devotion he felt for her, he sensed most of the time that he did not belong here, among these people, among these children. He was too hard, and too rough, and too ready to go all the way. He was not the kind of man they should be following, not even the kind they should really be listening to. He was a special case. His rules applied to his world. These kids weren't part of that world. They would grow up and grow old and die one day.

But the two he could not let go of shared one common factor: they both believed he was a hero. Jean had died believing it, and he had to swallow to ease the tightness in his throat knowing that probably Marie would as well, some day, in some future he did not want to conceive.

He didn't come here to ask forgiveness because there was no point in asking a stone for that. He didn't come here for guidance. He came here to remind himself. Jean chose everyone else above herself; that was her _choice_. It was not his place to stop anyone from making their own choices, but he was going to make damned sure that he had exhausted every angle before it came to that again. He came here to remind himself that he was the rock and the hard place and he was going to see that they came together with a bruising force if anyone tried to go through him.

The sun was coming up as he strolled back into the mansion. The children would be waking up and flooding the place and he realized he was still wearing the clothes from the mission, the grit and the dirt and the blood. He looked a damned sight better than Nell had, but he didn't want to frighten the kids, not that way at least. He did sometimes enjoy creeping up on them in the night when they were wandering the mansion.

He passed Marie's room on the way to his own. Increasingly, there were moments when he looked at her and saw a stranger, not even the haughty glint of Magneto, but a complete stranger in her eyes. He had made some allowance for her age, for her growing up, but he wasn't so sure womanhood filled that void completely. There were secrets. There were lies. He understood the importance of keeping secrets so he let her have hers, but he could see a space growing between them and he knew before long, even a running jump would not clear the chasm.

Maybe it was good for her. Maybe it was what she needed. What had drew them together so easily was the burden of their mutations, the pain they carried with them. Everyone had to develop their own way of coping; maybe this stranger was Marie's. He had to let her find her own way…even if he didn't like the smell of it. He had never wanted to feel responsible for her, to feel like a…parent. A guardian, maybe, but not a father. She already had one of those, somewhere. But she had a way of looking at him – or she used to – that made him feel responsible, that made her feel like she was his.

He knocked and waited for a while, but she never answered. She must have been exhausted. He could come back and find her in time.

Later, when he came down into the kitchen, he found an informal meeting of the X-Men, of all the members who had not been part of last night's disaster. Kitty and Bobby flanked Colossus and whispered around his broad form. Storm and Kurt were cooking and talking. Everyone stopped when he walked in, but Storm turned to see who it was and smiled, and he nodded back.

"You want eggs, Logan?" she asked.

"Sure."

When he sat down at the table across from Colossus, Kitty and Bobby shrank back. They all watched him expectantly. There was question and a hint of reproach in their faces, except for Colossus whose gaze was only curious and worried. Logan shook his head as Storm reached over his shoulder to set his plate down. He looked back. "Does anybody know how to keep a damned secret around here?"

Kurt chuckled and Storm gave a soft laugh. "They're X-Men now, Logan," she said.

Logan attacked his eggs with a vigor that put a little more distance between the two smallest X-Men and himself. Colossus continued stoically with his pancakes.

There was an absence of know-it-all self-satisfaction, and generally Scott was stationed beside the coffee pot.

Logan licked his canines and sighed. It was after seven. Nell should have been down by now, and Scott. Any minute now, the Professor would be summoning them with that damned telepathy that was possibly more efficient but always more unsettling than just sending a messenger around.

He focused on his eggs and devoured the toast when it appeared, and when he stood up to go fetch the others, Storm followed him out into the hall on his boot heels and stopped him.

"They're gone, Logan," she said quietly.

He opened his mouth and she stood on tiptoe to clamp a hand over it. "They left just a little while ago. The Professor has gone to see about a potential student."

Logan tugged her hand away and whispered hoarsely. "Now? Right now? The last thing we need right now is more students to worry about."

"He said it was a desperate situation. They took Nell."

Logan sniffed. "They?"

"The Professor and Scott." She crossed her arms. "The three of them went."

He planted his hands on his hips and scanned the hallway. There were students staggered along, most of them filing in and out of the dining hall, but none close enough to hear. He took a step forward, shrinking the distance between him and Storm, and looked a long way down at her, thinking. She sighed and stared back at him, a subtle worry in her own face.

There was no time for this bullshit. "So we just wait for them to get back from their field trip?"

"Logan—"

"Damn it! How the hell did I ever get—"

Storm jabbed a finger in his chest. "Hey! Don't go pretending you're the voice of reason, all right? We both know better. Don't act as if you've never gone rushing off—"

"Yeah, yeah," he broke in, and looking down at the stubborn set of her jaw, he gave a quick grin. She smiled back. He wasn't angry with Storm. He was angry with decisions being taken out of his hands, with decisions being made that delayed necessary action. "What the hell couldn't wait an hour, huh? Magneto isn't going to wait until we say we're ready before he starts launching the Greek fire over the walls."

Storm raised an eyebrow this time and Logan shook his head. "You know what I mean, Storm."

She nodded. "I do. But they're gone and I think, based on recent activities, we had best wait for them before we do anything…rash. I doubt Magneto is going to storm the castle this morning."

He snorted and grinned again. How did she do that? For somebody who could fill a room with thunder, she was one hell of a peacemaker.

"Besides," she added, stepping back and moving toward the kitchen. "I'm the ranking X-Man until they get back."

Logan laughed and leveled a gaze at her that made evident how much he cared about rank and Storm was almost gone when he thought again and called out to her once more. She leaned out of the kitchen. "Yes, Logan?"

"Where are they going?" He would have heard the jet, even in the shower. They must have left by car, which meant their destination could not have been too far.

"New York," Storm said. She had almost disappeared when she poked her head back out into the hallway one last time. "Oh, and Logan, Scott needs you to cover his classes until they get back."

Logan raised a hand but she was gone this time and a moment later he could smell onions in the skillet. He let out a deep breath and shook his head. Babysitting. He hated babysitting. What did One-Eye teach in the mornings anyway?

Fine. He grinned. If Scott had left any lesson plans, he would see they were shredded, and then the substitute would have to come up with a plan, and the substitute was teaching self-defense.

In fact, the substitute needed an assistant, and Marie would suit him perfectly. It would do her good to let some of that stress and tension out. And if she was pissed at him for anything and too woman to tell him, now was her chance to really give him a hard time.

* * *

**Thank you to all of my loyal fans, and especially to those who have reviewed. I have not forgotten or given up (and thanks again for the encouragement) but I did write myself into a temporary corner. But, all is well. I know how the story ends now and will be working to get those chapters up, and there will still be quite a few before the finale. I did have to make a small change to the last scene of this chapter to move things forward in the way that I wanted, so it's actually Nell who goes with Scott and Professor Xavier to meet the student.**

**I hope to have chapter 20 up in a few days and I am looking forward to hearing what you all think. THANK YOU SO MUCH for commenting and sticking with me. **


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